


endless summer

by flyingcrane



Category: Glee
Genre: Alive Finn Hudson, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bae is in Trouble, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gang Violence, Hurt/Comfort, I love hurting Finn and idk why, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, Pining, Post-Season/Series Finale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quinn Fabray & Noah Puckerman Friendship, References to Drugs, Secret Identity, Sorry Puck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcrane/pseuds/flyingcrane
Summary: Deep down, Puck always thought the next time he’d get to see Finn would be on his deathbed, old and grey or bleeding out on the battlefield, not running into him masquerading as a different person at four in the morning on the other side of the country, perfectly healthy and happy and not at all in a rush to contact the friends and family he left behind. Or,Puck is stationed two hours outside of LA, more than ready to get his promotion so he can finally move to New York permanently where everyone important to him is. He doesn't realize that LA really is the city of lost angels until he runs into one himself.





	1. Chapter 1

_C’mon Puckerman, it’ll be fun, they said. There’ll be great clubs, they said. We won’t cause any trouble, they said. Bunch of dumbasses,_ Puck thinks with an eye roll as he gets out of the rental car.

He should’ve known getting called out of his hotel room at four in the morning to pick up two of his guys at the Los Angeles Police Department was a big possibility, but he didn’t think it would happen the first night they were in town. Christ, they only needed to stay out of trouble for one damn weekend while they were away from base, and yet here he was, nearly sixteen hours after arriving in the damn city, and he’s gotta make nice with the local cops in the hopes of not stirring up trouble because two of his two out of four of his Airmen decided to get into a bar fight.

He signs in, tells the receptionist why he's here, and waits in the lobby like a normal civvie in blue jeans and long sleeved henley, kind of wishing he brought his full dress blues just to make a statement. His eyes sweep over toward the main doors where he figures the bulk of the police force sits around with stacks of papers and boxes of stale donuts.

A balding guy with a beer gut sticks his head in the lobby, beady eyes zooming in on him, and barks, “Puckerman? Your boys are back here. Follow me.”

 _Fucking finally_.

Duran and Fellows better be quaking in their seats cause he is going to chew their asses out when he drags them back to the hotel.

Sharp eyes scan the bullpen, large and spacious with desks crammed against each other and, he smirks, boxes of donuts on a table to the far left. There aren’t many people in - a few rookie cops, judging by their blue uniforms, and one or two older guys who are either just off duty or detectives with nothing better to do at the ass crack of dawn on a Friday night.

Puck spots his boys quickly enough, settled into two chairs beside an empty desk and looking a little freaked out, and on any other day it would be hilarious to see a huge black guy slumped down next to a skinny Chinese kid, both barely twenty-two and old enough to be out by themselves. But right now the situation isn’t that funny, and as irritated as he is, concern easily wins over. Duran and Fellows can be dunderheads at the best of times (Fellows more than Duran), the young usually are, but they aren’t the type to get into bar brawls easily and they know how hard their superiors - aka him - will crack down on them for even the slightest misdemeanor. They have a reputation to maintain, after all.

The guy who called him in doesn’t bother hanging around, just waves vaguely at them and mutters, “Hale will get to you in a bit, you can take it up with him.”

Hale, huh? Same detective his Airmen talked about just a half hour ago on the phone.

Puck crosses his arms when he reaches Duran and Fellows, looking down at them with a stern expression he thinks might look a little like Mr. Schue when he’s disappointed or even his old drill Sergeant but less terrifying. They’re not wearing handcuffs, which is a plus he supposes. It’s not as bad as he was fearing, anyway.

“Uh, hey, Staff Sergeant,” Duran greets groggily, straightening out of habit.

“We gave the detective our statements after he picked us up at the club,” Fellows says, looking beat and hungover with a nice looking black eye slowly forming. “We could’ve just grabbed a cab but he insisted on bringing us here and having someone pick us up.”

“He probably didn’t trust you two numbskulls to not get into another fight before getting back to the hotel,” Puck points out. “Now, wanna tell me what the hell made you two start a damn bar fight?”

“Actually, I have an answer for that,” a voice responds behind him, and Puck can practically _hear_ the smirk in that tone.

He rolls his eyes. “Officer Hale?”

“That’s me. Detective Hale, actually.”

Puck grits his teeth. It’s too early for this and he really just wants to grab his boys and get out, so he does the adult thing and turns with the good intention to shake hands with the detective responsible for bringing them in, but as soon as he sees the man's face, his vision goes grey and it's suddenly harder to breathe.

Dimly, he thinks maybe he’s not the only one in shock because the guy in front of him practically deflates from a cocky, way-too-awake-for-four-am douchebag to something much less put together. The detective is rapidly turning pale, brown eyes wide and dark against the sudden whiteness of his face. He’s over six foot easily, with a head of tousled brown hair and a nice face - high cheekbones and strong jaw somehow boyishly charming even without a crooked half-smile Puck can imagine in his mind so vividly even though it’s been years since he’s seen it.

“Finn?”

It isn’t until he says the name floating in his mind that he realizes how wrecked he sounds and it makes the man flinch as if he’d been struck. If anything it only solidifies the abstract image of a young Finn Hudson in his mind, superimposed over this stranger with scruff on his face and no varsity jacket on his shoulders.

“Staff Sergeant, you okay?” one of his boys asks, but he can’t really hear anything through the fog in his mind.

He doesn’t really snap out of it until Finn - it’s Finn, _Finn_ , his best friend, his quarterback, his goddamn _conscious_ but it can’t be because he’s been dead for so long, years and years and years - grabs his arm and starts to drag him to another doorway. Hale - Finn - the imposter throws a, “Stay put!” over his shoulder at Puck's boys, and before Puck knows it, they’re in a classic interrogation room with one bright light in the ceiling, a wide metal table, two chairs, and a two-way mirror.

Of all things, the door closing is what jars him out of his - whatever, shock or brain aneurysm or stroke, and it takes less than a second for him to turn and swing.

His fist makes satisfying contact against the taller mans face and he only uses the pain radiating up his arm to fuel his rage and grab the man by his white dress shirt and throw him against the door he’d just closed, arm tight against the other’s throat and teeth bared in a snarl. “Who the fuck are you?” The man groans, pushes forward, but Puck isn’t letting him go anywhere and just slams his weight into him again. “I asked who the fuck you are! This isn’t fucking funny! Why do you look like-”

He has to crane his head a little to look up, and familiar brown eyes are watching him with startling clarity despite the pain he must be feeling from the already forming bruise on his jaw.

For a wild moment Puck thinks he’s imagining things, that he’s wrong, he must be, until the man says, “Puck-”

He pulls back his fist and almost lands another hit, but Finn - Hale - whoever the bastard is manages to twist out of his grip and Puck hits his head on something as they tumble to the ground in a mass of limbs and angry swearing where they wrestle for control.

Puck’s a big guy, but the detective has about twenty pounds and four inches on him with some decent training in hand to hand, so he’s not all that surprised or happy to end up caught in a hold that immobilizes him for the most part. His head is swimming and his limbs feel heavy from lingering exhaustion, and it doesn’t help that the imposter keeps saying his name, his nickname that no one in the military knows about and rests in the heart of Ohio, over and over and over again in that same broken voice-

“C’mon Puck, man, please stop, Puck just listen to me-”

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ You’re not him, you can’t be-” Puck chokes, struggling against the cage of arms around him, “Finn’s dead dammit, he’s fucking dead! Finn Hudson died eight years ago so don’t fucking call me Puck, only my friends call me that! Finn’s dead, you’re not him, he’s-”

_“He’s dead and all we’ve got left is his voice in our heads!”_

 

* * *

 

Puck doesn’t know how long they stay in that interrogation room.

At some point, they’d stopped struggling, fatigued beyond just physical exhaustion, eventually gravitating away from each other until Puck is leaning against the door and Finn is on the other side leaning against the wall. Puck’s been tracing the planes on the other man's face for what feels like forever, and somewhere deep down, he knows his instincts when he first laid eyes on the taller man were right even if he hasn’t said outright what his real name is.

It’s Finn.

Older Finn wearing a grim frown and old eyes, granted, but not that different from the plaque still hanging in the auditorium at McKinley.

He thinks he should be doing something, like celebrating or crying tears of joy or some shit.

So why does he feel so numb?

He should he happy, right? Finn’s alive. He’s breathing and here and isn’t that what Puck has wished for every Hanukkah and Christmas and birthday and all those other useless holidays for the last half decade? He should be calling everyone he knows, everyone who still misses Finn and still feel his absence, telling them about how his stupid assignment to California turned out to be a blessing, right?

So why does he feel like his chest has been hollowed out and scraped clean? Is it because in all those wishes and dreams of Finn being alive, Puck always imagined him crashing one of Glee Clubs reunions with a big, dopey grin and apology about being gone for so long and it all being a misunderstanding? Not like this, like he’s walked into some huge, scandalous affair that needs to be kept quiet.

Deep down, Puck always thought the next time he’d get to see Finn would be on his deathbed, old and grey or bleeding out on the battlefield, not running into him masquerading as a different person at four in the morning on the other side of the country, perfectly healthy and happy and not at all in a rush to contact the friends and family he left behind.

He sure as hell never imagined Finn _hiding_ from them, _letting_ them think he was _dead_.

“I need to drive them back to the hotel,” is the first thing either of them says in - he checks his watch - nearly a half hour. His voice his gritty and raw sounding and rouses Finn from his own thoughts.

“Right,” Finn says, mostly to himself. “Right, I just- uh, have some release paperwork.”

 _Of course you do. “_ Okay.”

“Your guys did a good thing,” Finn says stiltedly. “Two guys at the bar were harassing a woman. Your guys told them to back off. They didn’t throw the first punch.”

Puck looks at him, _through_ him, and pretends he can’t see the desperate and sad look on Finn’s face. “Okay.”

They manage to get back to an even emptier bullpen without exchanging any more words, and Puck sees why no one came to get them. Duran and Fellows are half asleep in their chairs and there’s no one to see their rumpled clothes and bruised faces, no one around to hear them fighting.

Finn doesn’t say another word as he hands Puck the paper and he doesn’t either as he signs it.

As soon as that’s done, he kicks their chairs with a sharp, “Up and at ‘em you lazy bastards.”

It says something about his emotional state that their sudden flail to jump up and salute doesn’t even get him to smile like usual. They blink at him blearily and must see something on his face, the bruising or the desolation, because they don't even complain about how long he was gone or whine about him being mean. They just keep their heads down and march out the door without looking back.

Puck takes a step forward to leave when Finn calls out, “Puck…”

For a long, stupid moment, hope rises in his chest-  

“...don’t tell anyone you saw me. Please.”

-and it crashes and burns like all the good things in his life.

He doesn’t even look back when he throws over his shoulder, “Whatever. Who would even care anyway?”

 

* * *

 

_We need to talk. Meet me at the diner on 32nd and Adams Ave. 8am Sunday?_

_Please._

Puck stares at his phone.

So last night - this morning - hadn’t been a dream, huh?

There’s only one person who could’ve sent this, one person besides his four friends who even know he’s in the city and are currently out bar hopping before hitting the clubs again tonight. Duran and Fellows had skittered around him like startled animals all day, promising to not cause trouble again and unwilling to get on his bad side after their fuck up the night before, but also throwing him furtive looks he doesn’t really or know to care what they mean. The other two, more like acquaintances, don’t even ask what happened.

Everyone partying tonight means they’ll be hungover and enjoying the rare opportunity to sleep it off, and Puck will be free to go out and-

And what?

He squeezes the device between his hands, eyes clenched shut and shoulders taught.

God, what is he gonna do? What can he do? What _should_ he do?

He wants to call someone.

Quinn, because she’s become his best friend in the last few years and always knows what to say. Beiste, because he’ll tell him what to do. Santana, because she’s a badass and would fly all the way to LA if he so much as breathed a word about Finn being alive because she loves and hates Finn more than anyone Puck’s ever met and would kick his Frankenteen ass up and down the streets of LA. Berry, because Puck can still hear her mournful song play in his head when the nights are too quiet, or Hummel, because Puck knows he still has the varsity jacket everyone used at one point to comfort themselves as they grieved.

For the thirtieth time that day, his finger hovers over Carole Hudson-Hummel’s name, one touch away from a phone call because she deserves to know. He owes her, because she’s treated him like her own since he and Finn were kids and claiming to be best friends forever, because she still looks so heartbroken to see him without his taller shadow, because she has to know that her son is _alive-_

_“Don’t tell anyone you saw me. Please.”_

Puck swears and resist the urge to chuck the phone across the room, instead grabbing a pillow to scream into it.

_Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. What do I do?_

At this point, there’s only one thing he can do. He picks up his phone and texts back:

_You’re paying._


	2. Chapter 2

The diner is nothing special except that it boasts the best breakfast sandwiches on this side of LA, but Puck’s not really paying attention to that. Instead, he scans the somewhat bustling establishment and catches sight of _him_ sitting in the far back corner, and despite preparing for it, seeing him still knocks the wind from his lungs and makes him nauseous all at once. He gives himself a break; it’s only been a day since his world turned upside down after all.

Like he senses it or something, Finn’s head snaps up from where he’s been staring soulfully into his coffee and meets his eyes easily even without his distinctive combat uniform or dress blues.

He looks hopeful and scared all at once, and Puck internal scoffs as he takes a seat across from him in the booth.

This up close he can see how expansive the bruise on the side of Finn’s face is, spanning his lower jaw all the way up the hinge of it and into the high ridge of his cheek bone. He feels a little smug because it looks like Finn’s face had come in contact with a wall and ignores the fact that he has an impressive array of marks hidden just below the collar of his shirt and a yellow-brown bruise by his temple.

Finn’s staring at him like he can’t really believe he came.

It kind of pisses Puck off. What’s the point of being here if he doesn’t say anything?

“Well?” He prompts brusquely. “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

Finn blinks at him with that dumb, confused look on his face that shouldn’t make nostalgia twist in his chest, but he also looks worried. Scared. Keeps looking at the entrance like his worst nightmare is going to walk through. “Right,” he says roughly, hands still wrapped around his mug. “Um-”

“Jesus, I didn’t call your mom if that’s what you're freaking out about,” Puck spits, “Or Hummel or Berry even though I should’ve.”

The relief on Finn’s face is heartbreaking and disgusting.

“Hey sweetness! Would you like a refill on that coffee?” A peppy waitress interrupts. “And who’s your friend here?”

Puck bites back a growl and instead turns a charming smile on her. She’s older that them by at least a decade with forming crows feet and bright lipstick and eyeshadow, but she’s beaming at them with a genuine smile and her presence manages to make Finn relax a little. “You can call me Puck. Just catching up with an old face, you know how it goes.”

He ignores Finn’s stunned stare and pays attention to how her smile becomes a little more reserved now that her gaze is solely on him. “I see. Well, any friend of Big D’s is a friend of ours. How’s a famous breakfast sandwich and a coffee sound? On the house.”

Puck grins and he wonders if it looks as fake as it feels. “Sounds great. Thanks.”

“Clara, you don’t have to-” Finn starts, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Clara waves a hand at him and her smile goes back to being bright and sunny. “It’s nothing, sweetness! Now you two sit tight, food’ll be out in a few.”

She’s gone in an energetic whirlwind but Puck’s gaze is on Finn who looks a little less terrified but still on edge.

He raises an eyebrow, all traces of a smile gone from his face. “Big D?”

Finn flushes all the way down his neck and below the collar of his navy blue v-neck. “Uh, yeah. I come here a lot and I’ve helped out the owner before, so…”

“D, as in Darren. Detective Darren Hale of the LAPD. Joined the department after graduating top of his class at the police academy five years ago, promoted to detective after four years as an officer with an impeccable record and high detective exam scores, a member of the Gang and Narcotics Division as of June this year. _That_ Detective Darren Hale, right?” Puck interrupts, unrelenting and eyes never leaving Finn’s face as it grows paler and more drawn with every word. “Did I miss anything?”

Finn swallows, looks down into his cup. “You looked me up.”

Puck scoffs out loud this time, leans back and cross his arms, clenches his fists tightly in the material of his light jacket. “Of course I did.”

It’d taken him a few hours to get all the info though - first he’d needed to wait for Duran or Fellows to finally wake up since there were more than a few Hale’s working at the department, but afterwards it had been easy to make a few calls and pull a couple of strings, dive into the internet for a little bit for any information he could get his hands on.

Darren Hale is relatively well-liked in the community as far as Puck could tell from reading a few blog posts about the LAPD, and any major cases he’s been a part of have kept his name and face out of major papers upon his request.

Puck had called around where a lot of cops frequented in the area under the guise of being a fellow officer looking for Darren’s work phone and had found out quite a few things, laughing jovially with the employees as they either told him fondly that Darren was always so busy looking out for others that he’d forget about himself, thanking them and hanging up with a white-knuckled grip on his phone when one or two flirtily asked if he thought Darren would be by to check for his phone personally anytime soon.

(Darren’s favorite donut is an apple fritter, and he always buys a few vegan treats for two coworkers who can’t have dairy. He brings in coffee when some guys pull all nighters and he’s one of the first to offer his help if someone needs a shift picked up or traded. He’s the nicest guy around and will be designated driver during poker nights and won’t stand for any kind of bullying in and out of the workplace. He’s a model cop, a model citizen, a model in general-)

The more Puck had found out about Finn’s new life, the more he’d wanted to go back to that office and demand answers, drag him out into the street and beat some sense into him, beg him to come home.

He blinks out of his reverie when Clara comes by again, dropping off two more coffees and two sandwiches before leaving again with a wink that doesn’t completely conceal her worry.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” is what Finn says after a long silence where neither of them touches their food.

Heat rushes in the pit of his belly, licks like fire through his chest. Puck barks a harsh laugh. “You’re fucking kidding, right? You mean you didn’t mean for me to find out at all.”

Finn doesn’t say anything for a moment before his lips thin, nods once. “You’re right.”

Puck feels his lips curl into a half-snarl, eyes narrowing. “You gonna tell me why the fuck you’re here in some shitty diner and not in Ohio begging your mom to let you come home after the shit you put her through?”

Finn looks visibly sick now, the bruise standing out starkly against his pale skin made paler by the blood draining his face and filling it with guilt instead. The former football player can’t even look him in the eye when he whispers, “I can’t- I can’t tell you.”

Blood roars in Pucks ears.

_This fucker._

God, is that all he has to say? _Don’t tell anyone I’m here_ and _you’re right_ and _I can’t tell you_ . He’s pretty sure he’s said twice as many words as Finn, and Finn was the one to ask him here today, to _talk_ . And here he thought he’d be sad the entire time like Finn is, but instead he’s just--he’s frustrated and angry and so fucking lost, like he’s the last one in on a huge joke that isn’t funny at all and he wants to _hit_ something.

He’s sure he’s not supposed to hear Finn whisper, “This was a mistake.”

The hurt and anger last night had been bright and explosive and blinding like a supernova, burning hot and expanding outwards until there was nothing left but raw agony left it its wake, a black hole eating at him until he felt like his rib cage would collapse. This, though, this seething anger is fueled by indignation and incredulity. The very epitome of _how fucking_ dare _you._

He has to restrain himself from launching across the table and talking Finn to the ground to finish their fight, to beat some sense into this jackass who’s so willing to let his family, his friends, everyone _still_ mourning him live in this hell of always having a hole in their hearts. But this isn’t Finn, he reminds himself with disgust. This is Darren, hotshot detective with everything to lose if Puck opens his mouth and reveals him as the pathetic, lost little high school boy who failed to escape Ohio with his own identity.

He stands without ever touching his food, throws a twenty on the table and so ready to leave this shitty diner and shitty town and shitty people.

He hears Finn’s chair scrape across the floor, the urgency and distress clear in his voice, “Puck, wait-”

Puck doesn’t care what he has to say, puts every bit of poison into his words when he spits, “You think _this_ was a mistake? You coming back from the dead was a mistake.”

He doesn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

The guys don’t ask him where he’s been and he doesn’t offer an explanation.

They just mess around for the rest of the day, seeing the sights and eating street food and packing their things before they head back to base for training and classes and other things Puck actually understands. He can’t wait to leave, can’t wait to pretend he never saw a ghost from his past. The guilt of not telling Carole, or Rachel or Kurt or Burt or Quinn will pass, right? It has to, because even though he doesn’t know why he keeps Fi- Darren’s secret, he will. Maybe he just doesn’t want to disappoint anyone if they come around and find that Finn’s up and left - again.

He doesn’t want to think maybe he wants Finn to come back on his own.

So he goes back to base, files his reports, talks to his superiors, trains his underlings, pretends he isn’t hiding something huge when he touches base with a few people from Ohio and New York, and moves on with a life where Finn is still dead and not two hours away.

It works until two weeks later when Duran of all people decides to sit next to him in the mess hall and ask, “So how’s it going with your boyfriend?”

Puck chokes on his soup. “Excuse me?”

Duran blinks at him, all stoic and unconcerned that Puck sounds just a little bit horrified and murderous. “Your man back in LA? Fellows was out of it, but I wasn’t. Saw him drag you to the back and you two came out--well, your shirt wasn’t ripped when you left, that’s for sure. And you were sporting a nice shiner for a week even though nobody said anything about it to your face.”

Puck doesn’t gape but he does glare. “Mind your own business. He’s not my boyfriend.”

_He’s not my anything._

Duran raises an eyebrow. “Old flame? Fellows owes me twenty bucks, then.”

“What the fuck, Duran?”

Duran gets up, almost looks a little sympathetic, the fucker, and shrugs, “Sorry boss, but you look like a guy who’s just had his heart broken. Maybe try talking to the guy? He was really cool to us even though we kinda did fuck up that bar. And I’m not gay, but I’d bend over if he said the word. Just saying.”

Puck stares after the E-3, bewildered and maybe in a little bit in denial.

He gets back to his room, a single on base because he doesn’t really have a need for off-base housing and some other guys with dependants need the housing allowance more than him anyway, and picks up his phone with a thoughtful hum. Opens it with a four-digit code, stares at the only unknown number in his contacts because he can’t name it _Finn_ but he fucking _hates_ the name Darren, and wonders.

He calls.

_“Hello?”_

Something loosens in his chest. “Hey.”

_“Puck! It’s been a while, how’ve you been? Finally settled? I would hope so after four months there.”_

“Heh, yeah, something like that. I’m good. The guys aren’t complete shitheads like in Texas so that’s a plus.” His tone softens. “What about you?”

A soft but sincere, _“I’m fine. Mostly. Not easy having you across the country, but it must be even harder for you.”_

He shrugs even though she can’t see it. “Gotta do what you gotta do, right? Eighteen more months and I’m out of here. Back to New York.”

A teasing, _“Miss Rachel and Kurt that much huh?”_

Puck scoffs. “Right. Like chlamydia.”

Laughter. _“Artie is gonna be so mad when he finds out Sam told you that story.”_

Puck chuckles. “Everyone’s doing okay, though. Right?”

_“More than okay. Jake’s found his calling as a firefighter. You should see him - he was such a ham for the camera when they asked him to model for Mr. July in the fireman calendar. A lot like his big brother.”_

“Puckerman’s got good genes, might as well show the world.”

_“Uh-huh. And Artie’s gonna pop the question soon - for some reason he thinks Tina’s going to say no.”_

“Finally. She better like that ring too, I helped him pick it out.”

 _“I’m sure she will Puck. Rachel’s three months along and barely showing and Blaine and Kurt are the cutest dads in the world. I know Brittany and San have been talking about maybe starting their own little family.”_ A pause and a whisper, _“Beth is growing up into a wonderful little girl.”_

Pucks throat clicks when he swallows. “She does have our looks without the crappy personalities.”

Another laugh. _“That’s true. Everyone’s great, we’re just waiting for you to come home.”_

His throat tightens when he thinks of someone who should be home but isn’t. His mouth opens; he wants to tell her, hasn’t kept a secret from her in eight years, but in the end he just says, “Can’t wait to be home. Miss you, Quinn.”

They say their goodnights and Puck thinks.

He’s not on rotation this weekend. And he overheard one of the senior officers mention he’s heading into LA to meet with a lady-friend.

He teeters between glaring hatefully at the number and fighting back a tiny bit of regret.

With a sigh, he gives in.

_You busy this Saturday?_


	3. Chapter 3

The weekend comes quicker than he expects, and the next thing he knows he’s stepping out of a cab in downtown LA with directions pulled up on his phone for a pub nearby.

Once again, he searches for the tallest guy in the bar and spots him in the back even in the dimmer light, in a booth this time with a glass of something in his hands. He’s wearing a white v-neck that stretches across his chest under a leather jacket that frames his broad shoulders well, hair artfully styled in that typical LA fashion that kind of makes him a douche but a hot douche, and Puck mentally slaps himself because he’s not here checking out his date - he’s here to demand answers from someone who’s supposed to be dead.

As he comes closer, he notices Finn looks like he did the first time they met like this. Worried. Nervous. Scared. But he also looks relieved and happy. Puck doesn’t know what to do with the last two as he slides silently into the seat across from Finn who offers a nervous smile, careful not to jostle those long ass legs under the table and wondering why Finn thinks this time around would go better than the last two they’ve seen each other.

Then again, Puck’s the one who called him here.

Before he has to ask, a waitress is coming over - young and pretty with a flirty smile and killer legs, just his type - drops off a beer and a glass with two fingers of amber liquid.

He raises an eyebrow at Finn who shrugs and takes a sip of his own clear drink. “Jameson. Figured we’d need it.”

Puck is both surprised and not that Finn remembers his favorite drink but he doesn’t comment, just throws the whole thing back without even a wince and washes it down with a sip of his favorite imported beer. “So, gonna tell me why the hell your name is Darren Hale now? Or why the fuck you’re in Long Beach playing cop and robbers?”

Finn grimaces and smiles at the same time, like he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react to that.

“Let me guess,” Puck says with a mean smile, taking a long pull of his beer until it’s half gone, “you can’t tell me, right?” Just because he’s the one who suggested they talk this time doesn't mean he's going to make it easy. The last eight years haven’t been easy, and the last two weeks have been a veritable hell.

That guilty look is back, but there’s also something harder there too. Uncompromising and unapologetic.

_Fucking finally grew some backbone, huh?_

“It’s not that simple, Puck,” Finn says, frustratedly running a hand through his hair. “There’s a lot of things I can’t tell you because it’ll put you in danger, okay? And everyone I know. Knew.”

Puck snorts. It’s like a poorly thought out plot line of those shitty thrillers his little sister used to read. “Yeah, okay. So what _can_ you tell me?”

Finn looks a little unsure for a moment before smiling a little, unsure but hopeful. “Had a case this week where a kid decided to steal an ATM and drive through an abandoned gas station. Reminded me of someone.”

Puck watches him closely as he finishes off his beer and signs for another. Of all the topics Finn could breech, Puck acknowledges this is probably the safest - old memories between them are fine because if Finn had mentioned Glee or asked about anyone from Ohio, Puck is sure he would’ve snapped and either threw a punch or left like the last two times.

He plays along. “Oh? Did he have a mohawk too?”

“No,” Finn says, looking somewhat relaxed now. “Did have an ear piercing and bottle-blond hair though.”

Puck rolls his eyes. “Che, kid’s a rookie. He’ll get there.”

Finn snorts. “My job is to stop that from happening. Jeremy's a good kid.” He takes a long sip of his drink before asking, “So...what’ve you been up to?”

Puck barks a laugh, and though it’s not a nice sound, he decides to humor him. “Working, what else? I’m stationed at Edwards Air Force Base, fifteen miles east of Lancaster. For now, anyway. Been there for about four months now and I’ll be stuck there until I transfer or ride out the rest of my assignment.”

Finn blinks at him, astonishment coloring his expression. “Air Force? You’re-”

“An E-5 Staff Sergeant, yeah,” Puck smirks. “Got promoted two years ago, aiming for E-6 Technical Sergeant in a year or two. Why d’you think those two idiots two weeks ago called me Staff Sergeant?”

“That’s- wow! Congrats man! That’s amazing!” Finn grins, and it’s genuine.

Puck pretends the sentiment doesn’t affect him much, like those words he’s wanted to hear from this very man for nearly a decade don’t mean the world to him. Secretly, he tucks that bright, unburdened smile away to collect with the dozens - hundreds - of others he has stored away for a rainy day. “It’s something.”

They settle into a somewhat uncomfortable silence, but it’s better than the last time. Last time had been charged with expectations and anxiety and all kinds of tumultuous feelings that hadn’t had time to settle. It’s not that different now, but the anger that still simmers under his skin isn’t threatening to explode. It lingers, waiting for the wrong word to spill from Finn’s mouth, but there’s another part of Puck that doesn't really want a fight, just wants his best friend back.

“Got a girlfriend?” he asks for lack of anything better.

Finn blinks in surprise before the corner of his lips twitch - a self-deprecating little thing that Puck can still read as easily as his own name. “Not really. Dated a few people here and there, but nothing really lasted more than a few months.”

“They ask too many questions too?” Puck asks before he can stop himself.

Finn’s expression pinches but nods in concession anyway. “Yeah, something like that. What about you?”

Puck shakes his head. “Nah. Women love a man in uniform, but not long-term. Move around too much until I hit E-7.” He finishes off another beer, muscles loosening, and purses his lips thoughtfully before revealing, “I dated Quinn for a while. A year after you--after we thought you kicked the bucket.”

Finn coughs, choking on his drink. “You and Quinn?”

Puck shrugs one shoulder. “It was good. Lasted until about six months ago before we realized we were better off as friends.” Finn still looks kind of confused and he rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t like we were secretly pining after each other for all of high school. A year after graduation she was with this dickbag Biff, and I told her she deserved better. Got together after she dumped him, announced it and everything.”

He smiles a little at the memory, still able to perfectly recall the way he felt when she ran down that hallway and right into his arms, asked him to stay and kissing him like she meant it.

“Over five years. Wow. What happened?” Finn asks, tentative.

Puck sighs, looks at the label of his bottle. “We were good for each other, but we kinda just grew apart; romantically, anyway. Got too domestic too fast. People change and after a while...we didn’t _need_ each other like in the beginning. We still love each other, but it’s different.” He blinks in surprise when he realizes just how much he’s said. Shit, maybe he’s had too much to drink. “We’re still really good friends now. We talk every week and she updates me on what’s happening on the east coast,” he adds on, hoping to alleviate some of the sappiness that crept into his tone.

Finn doesn’t look mad. In fact, after the initial surprise, he looks like he expected it.

“What?” Puck growls.

The taller man shrugs, amused but not cruel. “Dunno, you guys just seemed pretty close in senior year, despite the whole Ms. Corcoran thing, and you made a weird kind of sense I guess. I thought it’d work out without high school stuff getting in the way.” Then he looks troubled. “You two didn’t...not because of-”

_Me._

“No, jackass. Not everything's about you,” Puck snorts as he accepts another beer and another two fingers of whiskey, throwing them back so Finn can’t see the lie in his eyes and falling from his mouth.

Of course it was because of him. It was _always_ because of him. He and Quinn had both used the other as a crutch and a lifeline to keep the other afloat, because Finn had been her first love and Puck had admitted it but Finn had been his too, since way back in the beginning during a time where Puck hadn’t remembered _not_ knowing Finn. He and Quinn had found solace in each other because of it, this shared love, because even through everything they’d still carried a torch for him.

Eventually though, Quinn got over it. She grieved and she let go and somehow so did Berry and Hummel and even Santana in their own ways and their different kinds of love for their quarterback, and Puck still couldn’t, so he’d taken the next chance he could to fly to the other side of the country to set her free.

She’s his best friend now, unsurprisingly, still the mother of his child and someone who’s stuck by him at his worst, and he wants nothing but happiness for her even if it means not being with him and his baggage.

Finn eyes him worriedly. “Uh, dude, that’s your fourth beer. Maybe you should slow-”

“Maybe you should shut the fuck up,” Puck snaps, unsettled by where his thoughts have taken him.

Finn settles back in his seat, hands up in surrender and biting his lip distractingly. “So...what do you do at base?”

Back to neutral territory then. Puck forces his eyes from Finn’s mouth to his eyes, can see the burning curiosity not directed at his job, but Finn doesn’t deserve such easy answers. “I oversee training mostly. Edwards Command Post focuses on flight testing so I’ve been training for that too.”

Finn’s gaze glitters with interest, a familiar boyish excitement surfacing. “That’s so cool.”

Puck goes for nonchalant but probably misses by a mile--but Finn is the nice kind of guy that won’t call you out. “Still doing conditioning for the most part. So...what’s it like being a cop? CSI and shit get it right?”

Finn actually laughs at that, quieter than what Puck is used to, but a real one all the same. “Yeah, no. I’ve mostly done patrol stuff, backing up other detectives and following them around. I’ve only been a detective for about a year so I’ve lead some cases, but nothing major like homicide or anything.”

That makes sense. None of the things Puck read mentioned Darren Hale being involved in murder cases, only drug busts and crashing arms deals.

Finn comes alive, now, getting more animated as Puck chills out, and Puck can’t deny that he’s enjoying listening to Finn talk about whatever, soaking in the feeling of belonging he hasn’t felt in years.

“Actually, just last week there was this one guy…”

 

* * *

 

When Puck wakes up, it’s with a splitting headache and the very distinct awareness that he’s not in his dorm or a hotel.

The bedding is a deep navy and grey, the mattress soft but firm, and he doesn’t remember his room having a football themed alarm clock on his nightstand. Next to it though is a glass of water and what he assumes are two aspirin, so he takes them and grabs his shoes by the bed. There’re no clothes strewn around the room and nothing physically that says he did more than get a hangover, so he probably didn’t get laid last night, and he’s mentally calculating how he’s going to get back to base when last night's memories come back to him in a rush of color and whiskey.

A quick survey of the room shows that it’s fairly spacious, but that’s because it’s completely open to the living room which has one couch, a large coffee table, and a tv. To his right is a hallway to what looks like a walk in closet and a bathroom, but before he can look much closer, he comes across the opening to the kitchen where Finn is rifling around in the cabinets.

Puck's voice is grating when he says, “Hey.”

Finn jumps, looking like spooked deer with ridiculous bedhead and wearing an old brown t-shirt, before clearing his throat and closing the cabinet with two mugs in hand. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

Puck squints at him but the flare of anger he expects never comes. He’s just tired. Tired of grieving and being angry and feeling sad. Besides, he hasn’t had a hangover this bad since his early military years so he really doesn’t feel like yelling yet and instead takes a seat at one of the barstools next to the counter. “Like I got my head rammed into a table. How the hell are you okay?”

Finn's lips twitch in amusement and gestures towards the coffee maker. “Want some coffee?”

It only makes him frown harder. “You hate coffee.”

The smile falters and Finn shrugs. “Things change. Can’t really get through a night of cold cases without it, and energy drinks make me-”

“-too jittery to do anything, I know,” Puck finishes.

Another silence falls, this time stilted now that there aren’t any volatile emotions to navigate through. Dead or alive, Puck never expected to sit in awkward silence with Finn because it’s never been awkward between them, so he does what he does best and pushes forward, practically kicking Finn out of his own kitchen as he goes through a few cabinets to find the cream and sugar.

“Dude, is that a Keurig? What the fuck?”

“What? It makes good coffee!”

“It’s all sugar and shit. You wouldn’t know good coffee if it bit you in the ass.”

“Since when are you a coffee expert?”

“Got stationed in Italy for a few months. Once you have good coffee you don’t go back.”

“Huh. That’s cool.”

“Hey, is that a french press up there? Why the hell aren’t you using that? Grab it.”

“It was a white elephant gift at work, dude. Doesn’t mean I know how to use it. I didn’t even know what it was until now.”

“Gimme it, I’ll show you how good coffee _really_ tastes.”

 

* * *

 

Puck gets back on base, six hours later than planned with a to-go cup of freshly made coffee and a promise to meet up again the next time they both have a day off.

He’s still in the dark about a lot of things, still angry and hurt and confused, still wants to shake Finn and beg him to come home, but now it’s less fresh, less urgent. Something last night had changed, he’s sure of it. It’s not like this morning was life-changing or mind-blowing or whatever, and he knows that future meet-ups will probably always have that edge of accusation in the lingering silence, but it will fade, in time. They’d spent the morning drinking coffee and bickering over what to watch on tv, and while they hadn’t been able to fall into their old banter or sit in silence comfortably, it was still something right? It didn’t leave him feeling guilty and and sick, which was was leagues better than what he felt in the aftermath of their first two meetings, a fucking dream come true after the last eight years.

He ignores Duran’s raised eyebrow from across the mess hall and checks his texts. He has four unread: one from Hummel, Berry, Shelby, and Finn.

_Noah, as you may already know from your conversation with Quinn, Artie is planning to propose in a few weeks. Be prepared for him to ask you to be a groomsman and send me your updated measurements in two months time so I can get started on the tuxes - unless you’d like to wear your uniform. Hope you’re loving the California weather!_

_Dear Noah, with Artie and Tina’s inevitable nuptials approaching, I find it prudent to remind you to request time off in the coming year for both the rehearsal dinner and the ceremony. Love from New York City, can’t wait to see you over the holidays! Kisses!_

Puck shakes his head - sometimes he can’t tell those two divas apart.

The next message from Shelby is actually a picture of Quinn with little Beth, ten years old and so beautiful like her mother with curly blond hair and light eyes - but she has his grin, he thinks fondly. They’re both smiling at the camera and there’s a little message attached that makes his heart squeeze painfully in his chest - _Miss you daddy!_

 _Miss you too, angel,_ he sends back.

The last one from Finn just reads:

_Astros vs Angels game next Saturday. Interested?_

He has to fight a smile and replies, _Angels are gonna get creamed, but you’re on._


	4. Chapter 4

After three more meet-ups in the next two weeks, Finn asks if Puck wants to hang out and watch the game at his place.

Puck hadn’t pushed before, content with hanging out at a sports bar to watch baseball (and yelling when the Angels lose _again_ ), revisiting the diner (with a better attitude; he’s still sure that Clara chick put a bug in his food though), and strolling down the Hollywood Walk of Fame (for shits and giggles since Puck hadn’t bothered the first time he was in LA), but he did wonder what Finn’s hangup was about going back to his place. He’d already been there once, after all, despite the fact that he didn’t really pay attention to anything but Finn with rumpled hair trying to work a french press.

Now, though, there’s a feeling of anticipation that he hasn’t really felt in a while.

(He ignores the little voice in his head saying the fourth date is more than long enough to get to third base when he usually hits a home run before the first.)

Today is the day he finds out where the fuck Finn had disappeared to and why.

Puck raises an eyebrow at the building - old and extremely boring. It looks like one of those cartoon buildings he drew as a kid where it’s just one giant square with a bunch of little squares that represented windows. The paint is the same, ugly, beige-yellow all around and it looks like even the tenants are boring since there aren’t any personal touches he can see, like colorful curtains or lights framing the windows. He doesn’t remember it looking this...bleh, the last time he was here - but he can’t remember even getting into a car or being driven back, let alone where he was headed to, so he thinks he can be forgiven.

Finn catches his look of course and rolls his eyes as he leads him through a bland white door down an even blander hallway to the elevator. “Don’t judge, man. Cheap rent is cheap rent.”

Puck can’t argue with that. It’s certainly better than some of the sketchier places he’d considered when he first came to LA. “Whatever you say.”

He already knows what to expect when he walks into Finn’s apartment but it still throws him through a loop.

There’s no drum set with sticks set on top. No posters of his favorite football teams on the walls. No Xbox with a bunch of games lying around. No giant cork board plastered to an entire wall with newspaper clippings and red strings connecting them like in the tv shows. Not even the stupid cowboy wallpaper he’s had to look at since they were kids and he had to see it whenever he slept over.

It’s a respectable studio apartment, perfect for one person; there’s a nice, large couch, glass coffee table, and widescreen tv. The walls are a very slight slate grey with white and navy curtains at the one large window and the light fixtures are contemporary and understated. The bed is large and comfortable looking (and he knows it feels comfortable too) with nice bedding that matches the cool tones of the rest of the apartment. The kitchen is clean with slightly outdated but functional appliances and there are small, thick-framed pictures of landscapes dotted on the walls.

It’s nothing like Finn.

“Make yourself at home. You want anything to drink?” Finn asks, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

Puck nods absentmindedly, settling on one end of the couch. He wonders how long Finn is going to draw this out. “Sure. Got a beer?”

Finn purses his lips. “I uh, I don’t drink. Water okay?”

Puck shrugs. “Fine with me.”

Puck gets his water but doesn’t bother really drinking it, instead setting it on the coffee table. He gives it thirty seconds before he sighs and turns towards Finn, who’s leaning against the bar that partially separates the living room from the kitchen, looking pensive and hesitant.

Puck’s not gonna let that stand.

“So you gonna tell me why you’re living it up in LA with a fake name or what?”

It comes out with more bite than anticipated, especially after the last few weeks of nothing but caution and slowly building trust, but the question still stands. He’s not as angry because he reasons Finn must have a damn good explanation, but the hurt still lingers and grows stronger the longer Finn keeps him in the dark, the longer Finn keeps this wall between them. He knows they haven’t seen each other in eight years, but there’s supposed to still be trust there right? Best friends are supposed to be able to go years without a word to each other but come back together as if those years never happened.

Does that still count if one had been technically dead?

Finn still looks like he’s holding back and a lot of things Puck never wanted to feel again since getting _the_ call are rising up again.

Puck stands, facing Finn and fully prepared to _sit_ on him if that’s what it took to finally get some answers. “What’s so important that you had to abandon your family and not be able to tell me until we got somewhere _private?_ ”

Finn fiddles with his own cup, shoulders hunched and brows furrowed in thought before he takes a deep breath and meets Puck's accusing gaze with a look that makes him seem inexplicably small. “I’m in the witness protection program, Puck.”

That...is _not_ what he was expecting.

“You’re-” Puck chokes, can’t even bring himself to think it’s a lie from the misery written all over Finn’s face. “ _What?_ ”

_Witness protection._

_Fake death._

_New name._

_Holy shit. Holy_ shit _why didn’t I think of that?_

The anxiety in Finn’s frame comes to life in the form of pacing as Finn walks back and forth in the small kitchen like caged animal, and it would look hilarious if Puck wasn’t currently in shock. Finn runs his hands through his hair agitatedly, looking at the window and door and window again - like he does whenever they go out - in what Puck finally realizes is paranoia.

“Witness protection, dude,” Finn repeats earnestly, arms flailing like when he has a hard time expressing himself. “It was--in college. I saw something, okay--I saw something _really_ bad. It was--” he swallows, runs a hand over his mouth, “I wasn’t supposed to see anything, but I _did_ , and they knew I knew and I got caught up in it, and I didn’t want to do it! I didn’t want any part of it, Puck, I swear! I tried to get out but they--they said they’d find you and kill you if I even breathed a word of it to anyone--”

Puck can barely keep up with the words falling from Finn’s mouth, head pounding and heart racing, feeling like the world's been pulled from beneath his feet.

 _But it’s nothing compared to what Finn’s been through_ , he thinks almost deliriously.

There are tears in Finn’s eyes, breaths coming faster as he finally stops pacing, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, keeps wiping his palms against the thighs of his jeans and tugging them through his hair. “It was so messed up dude, I didn’t think--I didn’t think it would get so far, but it _did_ , and I couldn’t leave or--or they’d hurt you and mom and Kurt and Burt and _Rachel_ and oh god, I was so scared. I was so fucking scared they’d find you guys and- and--and _they_ came and got me out but they said I couldn’t see you, _any_ of you, or else I’d get you killed and--fuck--”

Puck rushes over when he sees Finn collapse against the wall, chest rising and falling too fast, breath coming in short pants and eyes wide with panic, and shit shit shit Finn’s having a fucking _panic attack_ right in front of him.

They sink to the floor, Puck kneeling between Finn’s knees, hands trembling as he tries to get Finn to focus.

“Finn, look at me--look at me okay?” He snaps his fingers in front of Finn’s face, looks him in the eye, tries to get him to come back. He’s only coached a few other people through this before and never someone he lo- someone important to him and god he’s freaking out but he _can’t_ freak out because Finn is going to black out at this rate. “Finn, breathe with me, okay? You gotta breathe with me. See? Like this,” he takes a deep breath, in and out, waves his hand for Finn to do the same, nods encouragingly. “Good, that’s good, man, like that. Another, c’mon, just breathe, there’s plenty of air--just breathe--”

For all Puck knows, they stay there for anywhere from minutes to days, breathing together and trying to make sense of the world.

What seems like forever later, his back is to the wall with his knees drawn up, right next to Finn, and they both stare at the cabinets in front of them in silence because Puck doesn’t know what he can say, what he _should_ say.

He doesn’t know how long the quiet lasts, but Finn’s shoulder presses against his and he closes his eyes, tries not to cry when Finn starts talking. “I wanted to tell you when I saw you at the police department that first night, I swear I did. But the U.S. Marshals in charge of my case warned me when I first changed my name that I couldn’t say anything to anyone. I wasn’t allowed to contact anyone in my old life and I couldn’t tell anyone new who I was, and they...they scared the shit out of me, dude. They said if the wrong person heard, you guys could be dead in days. I can’t-- couldn’t risk that.”

Finn grips his arms tight, looks at him and shit he’s crying, he’s looking at Finn who’s crying right in front of him and Puck’s vision is blurring with tears too. “It’s okay, dude, it’s okay--”

“It’s _not_ okay, Puck! I made you all think I was _dead_! God, what did that do to my mom? Or Rachel? And Kurt and Burt--I can’t even--I’m too scared to even fucking look them up on the internet, that’s how terrified I am.” Finn’s fingers curl into the sleeve of his shirt and Puck can’t not throw an arm around Finn’s shoulders, draw him closer until Finn’s head is tucked under his chin as they half-lay in a tiny kitchen in a boring apartment complex in a huge city with more secrets Puck can ever imagine. “I couldn’t lose you guys, I can’t--”

“You’re not gonna lose anyone, never,” Puck promises fiercely, but the words are hard to get out because the guilt is filling his lungs like water and he’s in an ocean of it.

They should’ve looked closer, asked more questions, demanded more answers, but in the end all they did was accept the fact that Finn was supposedly dead. They moved on. _Fuck, this is gonna kill Rachel_ , he thinks dimly. Quinn and Kurt. Carole and Burt. Schue and Beiste and Pillsbury and even Sylvester.

“I wanted to call you guys so many times. Send a card to make sure you guys knew I was okay,” Finn says, voice muffled.

“I know, man, I know,” Puck soothes, and it’s true, he knows that Finn would never do this maliciously, wonders how he could’ve thought it when he first saw his best friend again.

(They both know that no one in New Directions would stop until they found Finn. Well, _Puck_ knows that most, if not all, of their friends would ride through hell to get their quarterback home, with Santana and Schue leading the charge and Rachel and Kurt right after them, _Finn’s_ kids - Ryder and Marley and Jake - following close behind all while Sylvester screams long-winded insults the entire time.

If they’d even had a _hint_ that Finn was still breathing, there would’ve been no stopping them.)

Eventually, Puck manages to coax Finn to get up and change into sweats and a new shirt, borrows some clothes for himself, doesn’t hesitate when Finn pulls him into bed too and curls up next to him even though there’s barely enough room for one. He doesn’t say anything when Finn’s fingers curl into his shirt at his side or rests his forehead against Puck’s chest. Puck vaguely remembers doing this when they were kids, when one of them needed comfort and reassurance that went beyond words - the night Puck’s father left and the hard months after, the week when Finn’s mom got her heart broken, even the one time in high school they never talked about when Finn found out the truth about his father.

He still doesn’t know how deep this goes, just that the situation is serious enough to not only put Finn in witness protection but also _keep_ him in it for eight years, but for now, he just wants to sleep with the comforting sound of his best friends even breathing right next to him.

 

* * *

 

When Puck wakes, it’s to the sleeping face of his best friend.

He’s quiet as he watches the rise and fall of Finn’s chest, enjoys the silence of the early morning and the peace he never wants to disrupt.

 _He looks tired_ , is all he can think.

And it’s true. Finn, even in a deep sleep after a night of crying and comfort, looks absolutely exhausted, as if those secrets he’s been carrying weighed like boulders on his back as he ran marathons. And yet, he still looks better than any time Puck’s seen him in the last five weeks. The near-perpetual furrow between his brows is gone and the tension that always lines his shoulders is absent. Puck quietly traces the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Finn’s nose and cheeks, barely visible in the weak morning light, and his chest clenches because they make Finn look even younger than his twenty-some years.

 _He probably has a lot of panic attacks...and nightmares,_ he quietly muses, stomach rolling at the thought. _Fuck._

“I’m sorry you’ve been alone this whole time,” he whispers, voice cracking.

Carefully, he gets out of bed, noting that it’s only seven in the morning and he has the whole day to make sure Finn feels like he has support, _knows_ someone is in his corner. Puck regrets not doing this earlier, knowingly or not alienating his best friend who’s been suffering this whole time, and gets to work cooking a breakfast fit for kings.

About an hour later, he hears more than sees Finn stumble out bed.

Finn blinks blearily at him, one side of his hair smooshed down flat, and Puck wants to gag himself when he catches himself thinking it’s fucking adorable. “Puck? What-”

He holds out a cup of fresh coffee as the eggs finish cooking without a word, just quirks a smile at him. Finn raises an eyebrow but takes the mug, grimaces when he takes a sip of his coffee, and Puck has to hide a laugh behind his own cup.

Guess some things never really change.

“Figured since we didn’t eat dinner last night, we’d need a lot of food,” Puck says after a few peaceful minutes with a shrug, probably missing nonchalant by a mile, but Finn only grins brightly at him as they load up their plates and sit on the couch side by side with the tv playing reruns of some comedy.

Halfway through the second episode, Finn clears his throat, “Um, I didn’t want to ask before cause I knew it would piss you off but...how is everyone?”

Puck watches how Finn nervously balls up the napkin in his hands, wondering if Finn is really ready to hear how his friends and family have moved on without him.

Better start off easy.

“Well, avoiding it or not, you’ve had to have heard about Mercedes, right? Just finished her second or third world tour now and living it up in Vegas. Artie’s directed a few movies now and I guess he just signed a deal with a big producer here in LA. Tina’s been in a few movies and tv shows. San’s doing off-Broadway when she isn’t busy as Berry’s publicist and Britt’s opened her own dance studio with Mike, started in Lima and now they have a studio in New York City. Uh, Sam’s still in Lima, became a spokesperson for the performing arts and Director of New Directions after Schue became Principal.”

Finn actually grins a little, a huff of disbelieving laughter escaping him. “Wow. That’s--that’s _amazing_! I knew they’d all do great things but...wow.”

Puck hesitates before continuing, “Berry made it big on Broadway, like she always said she would. Had a kid, got her Tony, married that St. James guy, not in that order. They didn’t get together until three years after you died, but they’ve been pretty happy. Second kid is on the way now - four and some months. The first one she popped out was for Hummel and Anderson a year and a half ago, so the bun in the oven’s gonna stay with her this time.”

He watches Finn stare into his coffee cup thoughtfully, unsettled when he can’t really read his face.

“Your step-brother’s made a name for himself in fashion, does a few off-Broadway shows when he has time. Burt’s doing good. Healthy. Last I heard he’s still making waves as a Congressman. You’re mom...she’s okay. I’m not gonna lie to you man, she was pretty bad for a while there, but after your kids went to Nationals she...she got better.”

Finn still doesn’t say anything, and it’s kind of making Puck nervous until he looks over to see the silent tear tracks making their way down his face.

“Finn-”

“Stop,” Finn says, voice hoarse, and it makes Puck’s heart clench.

“Finn-”

“I can’t-” Finn swallows, blinking back more tears with his hands clasped together in front of him. “I’m--I’m so happy for them, and thank god they moved on, but I can’t--”

“Hey, hey, I get it, it’s okay,” Puck says soothingly, rubbing Finn’s back and squeezing his shoulder.

Puck doesn’t know how he’d feel if he were Finn. Angry that everyone’s moved on? Sad that he might be forgotten? Happy that all the people he loves are in good places in their lives, even without him there?

But he’s not a good person like Finn, who’s crying tears of happiness to hear his family and friends living their dreams. If it were him, he’s sure his heart wouldn’t be big enough to accept that he’s no longer a central part of everyone’s lives, wouldn’t be man enough to be grateful for their health and success without him there to celebrate it with them. It makes him want to hold Finn’s face in his hands, wipe away the tears and kiss him until he forgets why he’s sad in the first place.

He doesn’t do any of that, though. He let’s Finn collect himself and waits until Finn’s relaxed again before asking, “So, don’t the witness protection guys usually tell your family and friends you’re going into witness protection?” Puck asks, partly in derision but also in curiosity and maybe a little bitterness not aimed at Finn.

Finn nods, “Yeah, usually they take the whole family but…” he swallows hard, looking troubled, “I pissed off a really bad guy, Puck. He didn’t know who I was, really, just some dumb college kid, but if he knew I was related to a potential US Congressman?” Puck winces. “Yeah. Can you imagine what would happen if I happened to die and the wife of said US Congressman  candidate with the same maiden name disappeared?”

“That would be pretty bad,” Puck concedes grudgingly, taking another sip of his coffee.

His fingers flex around the mug hard, the tips of his fingers turning white from the pressure. He wants to kill the guy that put Finn into this situation.

“Besides,” Finn continues, looking a little miserable again, “I couldn’t do that to mom, or Burt and Kurt. I didn’t want mom to divorce Burt, and I couldn’t involve Burt because he’s all Kurt has, you know? And that would involve Blaine and--”

Puck cuts him off, “You know your mom would choose you over the world. Burt would do the same for Kurt, no questions asked, and _they_ would drop everything for _you_.”

Finn nods a little guiltily, maybe even a little like he doesn’t really believe it.

“You need to start thinking about yourself,” Puck says adamantly. “But until you do, I guess I’ll have to do it for you.”

God that’s sappy, but the shy smile he gets is worth every word.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry, can’t hang out tonight. New witness came up in the Friskin case and the chief wants all hands on deck. Rain check?_

Puck bites the inside of his cheek and types back, _no problem dude. Still on for this weekend?_

The confirmation and dumb little smiley makes the disappointment in his chest fade a little, but it still kind of sucks. He’s not mad at Finn, especially not for doing his job. But he _is_ irritated at the sudden kick of gang-related violence and drug busts that Finn has had to investigate for the last two weeks, and even if he won’t admit it completely to himself, he’s worried for Finn’s safety.

The Friskin drug bust had been huge news, a case that had been open with no leads for months before the department's latest bust - Alex Friskin, co-owner of several very successful nightclubs in downtown where many celebrities are often seen, had been caught with both hands in the cookie jar and baking some on the side. Puck only knows what Finn’s been able to tell him, which wasn’t much because the case is still technically open and high profile, but Puck knows it’s a shitshow in the Narcotics Division, especially with the feds trying to jump in on the case.

It’s made even worse and more dangerous by the fact that the Friskin case? Is only a small part of an even larger, nationwide drug ring that has several major cities and dozens of counties watching and investigating in the background of their regular cases.

He bites his lower lip, worried.

“What’s the matter, Serg? Hot date cancel?”

Puck rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest when Duran and Fellows sit across from him in the mess hall. He also doesn’t dignify that with a response, no matter how almost-true it is and snarks instead, “Shouldn’t you two be training? Your range scores are abysmal.”

Fellows grins wide enough to make his eyes close. “Got done an hour ago, Serg!”

“Yeah, so don’t change the subject. Is it the detective we met two months ago?” Duran asks knowingly.

Puck doesn’t know why he hangs out with these two. Then he remembers that all the other E-5’s and up around this place are bags of dicks and figures it can’t hurt to talk about Finn even if their renewed friendship is still somewhat fresh and budding. “Sort of. We’re friends. Had to thank him for taking care of your dumb asses and now we just bitch at each other about our coworkers.” He glares pointedly at them but it flies right over Fellows’ head and Duran is like Buddha and doesn’t give a shit.

“Uh-huh,” Duran grunts, unconvinced, but luckily he’s not the pushy type. “Well, let him know we owe him a beer the next time we’re in town.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re in a _band?”_ Puck asks incredulously.

They’re hanging out at Finn’s apartment again later that week, cooking dinner on Finn’s two-burner stove, and Puck’s never felt more at home.

Finn colors, shoulders hunching a little like when he’s kind of embarrassed and annoyed by it. “Not really, it’s just a few guys getting together and playing music when we have time. Justin, the guy whose equipment we use, has a lot of big productions going on and he just wanted a fun little side project, you know? Helps him decompress.”

Puck thinks that maybe it helps Finn decompress too, especially after the last month of nothing but stress, so he doesn’t poke fun.

“And you’re the lead singer I’m guessing?”

Finn laughs, open and free. “Nah, no way. Justin’s great as the lead vocalist. I’m the drummer and I do backup vocals once in awhile. I get to write too, sometimes, and he’s teaching me about production stuff.”

Even though Puck thinks this Justin guy is dumb for not taking advantage of Finn’s amazing voice, it makes a weird kind of sense. Finn’s been drumming since before Glee or even football, and half the time he’s singing he’s on the drums anyway. He’s good at it, can keep a beat better than even Berry. Puck wonders why Schue never really utilized that skill before, but it’s sort of a moot point now. “And you guys are performing tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, the owner is friends with Justin and asks us to fill in if he doesn’t have any decent acts queued up. You can meet the guys after if you want.”

Finn looks so stupidly hopeful without trying to that Puck can’t really say no, even if he wanted to.

Something in him rebels at the thought of meeting more people from Finn’s other life, his new one without Ohio or McKinley or Glee, and he won’t admit he’s jealous of how much respect Finn seems to have for this Justin guy, but he inexplicably wants to go and _make_ himself important in this new life too.

He’s already sort of made up his behavior to Clara after a few more trips to the diner, who hadn’t liked him at all after leaving Finn looking so distraught that first time, and Katy from the pub knows his order by heart. He’s stopped by the police department a few times, bringing lunch or just to hang out since he’s between training regimes and has a lot of free time on hand until the next batch of recruits gets shipped in. A lot of the older officers and detectives like to rib Finn for having a secret wife at home, but they do it out of affection and they respect Puck for the most part so he lets it slide. Apparently, Finn doesn’t get a lot of friends or family visiting him at work like most of the other guys, and Puck makes it his mission to change that.

There’s a newer officer, a detective-wannabe named Ricky, who seems like a cool guy, and Puck is more amused than jealous of the obvious hero-worship he has for Finn. It’s understandable since he’s two years younger and Finn had been a sort of mentor to him when he first joined the force. He’s a good guy, as are a lot of the guys in Finn’s division, and Puck is a little more at ease when Finn gets called out to a crime scene in the middle of their hang outs ( _not_ dates).

Meeting all these people makes Puck think about all the lives Finn touched in Ohio, makes him feel guilty for enjoying his free days with the person so many of their friends think is dead, but he pushes it to the back of his mind.

He shrugs. “Sure why not? Maybe he’ll let me practice a little on his guitar.”

They end up on the other side of town where a few big nightclubs are the next day. The bar they go to this time is a lot less sports oriented than their usual, more like one Hummel and Berry would terrorize on karaoke nights, and they head to the back where Finn’s band mates are practicing in a private room.

Turns out Finn’s band mates are just as laid back as he is, which is a complete opposite of their high school Glee club, but Finn relaxes in their presence and they treat him like family so Puck figures they can’t be bad guys. Justin is a weird kind of handsome, a little too pretty like Blaine's older brother, but he’s mellow and he really does have a nice voice. They talk guitars while Finn greets the other two, the bassist and other guitarist, and set up to practice.

Puck watches them run through a few songs on the sidelines, relaxing on a couch and absentmindedly practicing chord progressions on a borrowed acoustic. The music is good - a little too low key for his tastes, a slower beat and more rockish than he typically likes, but it’s definitely music that’s well produced and obviously important to each of them.

Finn looks happy.

It makes Puck ache somewhere deep in his ribs because he doesn’t think Finn gets to be happy like this a lot anymore. He’s playing the drums with even more rhythm and skill than Puck remembers, dexterous hands flipping the sticks between beats and voice as strong and clear as in high school when he backs up Justin vocally, and it just reminds him of the times he looked back during Glee and saw that very same, carefree expression on Finn’s face as he drummed through a few measures of their song of the week.

“Alright guys, time to set up for the real thing!” Justin announces after the last note of their final song rings out, teeth blindingly white.

Puck gets directed to the bar while Finn and the others set up on stage, noting the rather large crowd. He raises an eyebrow at who he thinks is the manager - the one Justin is friends with. “These guys popular or something?”

The guy eyes him for a moment before he breaks out in a wide grin. “Or something.”

“Hey everyone! Looks like we’ve got a good crowd tonight.” Justin grins when a loud cheer erupts. “Lots of familiar faces and lots of new ones, I love it. Here we go!”

Puck smirks back, orders a beer, and enjoys the show.

 

* * *

 

About a half hour later, Justin steps up to the mic with his guitar strapped to his back. “You guys have been amazing tonight!” A loud cheer. Puck’s a little surprised that time’s passed so quickly, but that’s probably because he’s been too busy staring at Finn drumming in the back, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the beat or smiling as he sang back up. God, he missed Finn’s voice. “This is our last song, so enjoy it!”

There are some aw’s but they quiet as soon as the melody starts, and Puck already knows it’s a fan favorite. He finds himself swaying to the melody, the haunting voice and slow bass thrumming down to his bones.

 

All the good girls, and all the bad boys

Dressin’ up and crawlin’ out, bringin’ in that noise

Wake the neighbors on the streets that sleep

Turn the headlights on, turnin’ off who we’re supposed to be

 

It’s gonna be an endless summer

One we won’t recover

And if we never see fall

We’ll have no regrets at all

 

It’s the last call for all you dreamers

I can see the sparks in your eyes

No one's gonna sleep tonight

 

It’s gonna be an endless summer

One we won’t recover

And if we never see fall

We’ll have no regrets at all

 

Ready or not, it’s under your skin

Feel the fire, let it begin

Ready or not, it’s a beautiful life

Live or die, don’t let it pass you by

 

It’s gonna be an endless summer

One we won’t recover

And if we never see fall

We’ll have no regrets at all

 

It’s gonna be an endless summer

One we won’t recover

And if we never see fall

We’ll have no regrets at all

 

Ready or or not, it's a beautiful life,

Live or die, don’t let it pass you by

 

Puck swallows thickly as the last word dies in the even more crowded bar. He hadn’t heard them rehearse this in the back, but it’s a good kind of surprise that leaves him a little breathless. This, this is definitely his favorite song he’s heard so far.

Justin is back to the mic after setting aside his acoustic. “Alright guys, we’ve got something special for you. The sexy dude behind the drums wants to sing for a certain someone. Whaddaya say?”

An even louder roar of cheers erupts, and Puck can almost see the flush work its way up Finn’s neck from where he is, embarrassed and flustered despite being the center of attention since he was a kid. _Fangirls,_ Puck thinks in amusement as girls as young as fifteen and old as forty-five raise their hands up and reach for him, shouting each of the band members names at the top of their lungs. _Finn has actual fangirls._ Different from high school chicks who dig the quarterback; these are actual women who would probably cheat on their boyfriends for Finn. _Can’t blame ‘em either._

Finn gets up from the drums, allowing another to take his place, and stands in front of the main mic where Justin just was. He looks bashful, garnering wolf whistles and cheers from the audience, and laughs a little. “Hey, so, it’s been awhile since I’ve sung in front of a crowd.” The audience screams and Finn’s confidence seems to grow, especially when his searching eyes finally find his.

Puck raises a beer with a smirk and Finn grins right back.

“Um, this is for someone important to me. We haven’t seen each other in...years, and I’ve really missed them, and I still have a lot of things to tell them. Things they don’t know about, but I want them to know now. So. This is for you.”

 

I need another story

Something to get off my chest

My life gets kinda boring

Need something that I can confess

 

'Til all my sleeves are stained red

From all the truth that I've said

Come by it honestly I swear

Thought you saw me wink, no

I've been on the brink, so

 

Tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

Sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

 

This time don't need another perfect lie

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

 

My God, amazing how we got this far

It's like we're chasing all those stars

Who's driving shiny big black cars

And everyday I see the news

All the problems that we could solve

And when a situation rises

Just write it into an album

Send it straight to gold

But I don't really like my flow, no, so

 

Tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

Sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

 

This time, don't need another perfect lie

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

 

Oh, got no reason, got no shame

Got no family I can blame

Just don't let me disappear

I'ma tell you everything

 

So tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

Sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

 

This time, don't need another perfect lie

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

 

So tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

Sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

 

This time, don't need another perfect lie

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

All my secrets away, all my secrets away

 

Puck clears his throat when the last note rings out, mind spinning with Finn’s words and Finn’s voice and Finn’s song, can’t help but wonder what Finn has left to tell him after the witness protection thing got out. He blinks and the hush is broken by the audience nearly rioting as they cheer, the loudest they’ve been all night. Puck thinks it could be that they’re all half-wasted and have no control, or that Finn’s a hot anomaly that they want to stay on stage so they can ogle him, but Puck knows it’s because they’re genuinely blown away by the performance.

 _Didn’t win Nationals with a slouch as our male lead_ , he thinks proudly.

The next fifteen minutes pass in a blur, and that’s probably because he’s on his fourth beer by the time Finn gets back to him, flushed and breathless even after getting off stage. To Puck, he’s never looked more beautiful and alive.

“Ready to head back?” Finn asks, eyeing the beer bottles with a raised eyebrow.

“This one yours, Hale?” the manager guy asks.

Puck leans heavily into Finn, more than he strictly needs to, and soaks in the warmth he can feel through Finn’s thin navy t-shirt and hooded canvas jacket. He feels Finn’s chuckle rumble through his chest and his arm wrap around his waist. “Yeah, he’s with me. I can pay his tab.”

The manager waves him off. “Friend of yours is a friend of ours. Now get your boy home, Hale. I don’t need him puking on my nice wooden floors.”

Puck flips him off, but after the hour of them joking, the man only laughs at him.

They get back to Finn’s without incident, but something’s been bugging Puck since he heard the first chorus of Finn’s song. “Hey,” he says, and shit maybe he is a bit of a lightweight now because he’s still a little floaty, “what’d you wanna tell me?”

Finn looks at him, eyes dark and intense, before the expression clears. “I’ll tell you next time. You work early tomorrow so we gotta get you on the first shuttle back to base.”

Puck squints menacingly at him but doesn’t resist when Finn pulls him into bed because that’s what they’ve been doing since Finn’s first panic attack, nor does he push when he sees how emotionally drained Finn looks. Tonight was a big night for Finn who, despite coming clean about his second life, still seems reluctant to completely draw Puck into his world for whatever reason. “Fine, but you're gonna tell me, right? No more secrets ‘n shit.”

Finn chuckles sleepily, runs a hand down Pucks side. “Right. No more secrets." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Bonnie Dune - Endless Summer  
> One Republic - Secrets
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

Puck chokes on his cereal when he feels Finn press something cold and metallic into the palm of his hand. He stares at it a little dumbly, recognizing the familiar grooves of its teeth and the core number engraved in its center, because it looks exactly like the key to Finn’s apartment. 

“Figured you come and sleep over enough for you to have a copy,” Finn says, not looking at him while the tips of his ears turn red. 

He’s not wrong - Puck spends more time at Finn’s place or with Finn in LA than he does on base, which is a notable feat considering he  _ works and lives _ at a place that’s two hours away. It’s almost like they’re still only a few streets and a ten minute bike ride away from each other, like when they were growing up.

“Right,” Puck says, clearing his throat. He pockets the key where his military ID and picture of Beth and Quinn are. “Thanks.”

There’s a feeling of anticipation hanging in the air between them as they finish breakfast in companionable silence, something Puck’s noticed has become somewhat common when they’re alone in the same room together. It inexplicably ties his stomach in nervous knots, makes hope flutter in his chest when Finn looks at him with dark, focused eyes. Puck thinks maybe it's this secret Finn’s supposedly keeping from him, but it could be something else entirely.

Unfortunately, they don’t have time for any heart-to-hearts now. The shuttle that takes him back to base leaves in a half hour and they’re busy enough for the few weeks that they know getting together won’t be an option.

Puck thumps Finn on the back when they hug goodbye, even knowing they’ll see each other soon and text each other even sooner, and says, “Remember man, no more secrets.”

Finn grins at him, shoves him so he starts walking towards the bus. “No more secrets.”

 

* * *

 

It’s three weeks before they have that talk.

They’re not actually planning to meet up for a month because Puck’s training is getting more rigorous while he applies for promotion and Finn’s caseload is so big it’s making half the Narcotics Department basically live at their desks. They text, of course, and call when there’s no one around to really hear their dumb inside jokes or see the wistful little smiles on their faces, they even skype a few times when they both miraculously have a night to themselves.

So Puck’s not expecting to be back in LA a week earlier than planned. He’s not even really planning to call Finn that night because he can already feel the drag of exhaustion pull at his bones, but when his senior NCO pulls him aside and hands him the phone with a grim line slashing his face, Puck thinks he’s going to see Finn sooner than expected and not under any good circumstances.

There had been a shooting near Inglewood on Manchester Blvd and Finn’s squad had been in the middle of it, his superior officer says, almost apologetically. 

Puck takes the phone. It’s a nurse from the Centinela Hospital Medical Center in downtown LA. 

Puck doesn’t really remember what excuse he gives his squad or superior or how he gets down to South Central so quickly with Duran and Fellows following close behind. His mind is too busy replying that phone call in his head over and over and over again, a rock settled solidly in his stomach the whole time, and even all of his training doesn’t keep him from thinking the worst, can’t prepare him for the terror that swells up like a lungful of air when he breathes in and stays in his throat when he breathes out.

_ “Is this Staff Sergeant Noah Puckerman? This is the Centinela Hospital Medical Center and we have a patient by the name of Darren Hale here. His paperwork says you are his emergency contact.” _

_ “Yeah, that’s me. Why? What happened? Is he okay?” _

_ “Mr. Puckerman, Detective Hale and several other officers are being treated after a shooting in South Central Lost Angeles. We need you to come down and sign some paperwork. He’s in stable condition but currently unconscious.”  _

_ “I’ll...I’ll be right there. I’m out of town so I’ll be there in a couple hours.” _

_ “Understood, Mr. Puckerman.” _

The hospital is a huge white building that looks more like a prison, but Puck’s not really paying attention to that. He weaves through other patients and visitors, signs the paperwork the nurse needs signed, and leaves his two Airmen to wait in the lobby with other concerned mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, friends and lovers, pretends his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest when he passes by two police guards who wave him through after he shows them his military ID.

The first thing he looks for when he enters Finn’s hospital room is the movement of Finn’s chest, rising and falling slowly with deep, even breaths, and his knees nearly give out from under him at the utter relief that sweeps through him. 

_ Fuck. Fuck. He’s okay. Thank fuck, he’s okay. Thank god, thank you, he’s okay, he’s fucking okay… _

For the most part anyway.

The room is quiet aside from the near silent breaths coming from Finn and the pounding in his ears from blood rushing too quickly with adrenaline. He settles in a chair beside him, nerves and anxiety disappearing when he thinks  _ fuck it _ and takes one of Finn’s cold hands into his own. Finn’s never tanned well - he’s more likely to turn red than any shade darker than wonder bread white - so Puck has always been struck by the difference in their skin color, fascinated in a way that he’s never been with Quinn who is just as fair. 

“You idiot,” Puck says aloud, coming out softer than he means. “Fucking making me sit here like some hot love interest waiting for the dashing male lead to wake up from his dumbass coma or whatever.”

He waits a half hour, agonizing over the thought of calling Carole or Quinn or Beiste for comfort and a confession because that’s what this part of the movie is supposed to be about, right? Some grand reunion where everyone finds out and they’re too busy being worried to be mad at first, followed by love declarations and happy resolutions and riding off into the sunset?

In the end, he doesn’t call. Finn isn’t dying, as much as Puck’s heart can’t seem to understand that, so there’s not really a point to it.

A doctor walks in a bit later, old and greying, and followed by someone probably important by their suit and the way that they walk. Puck’s seen that gait in older officers - back straight, eyes hard, and shoulders squared, as if subconsciously challenging every man they met to see if they’re worthy of respecting. 

Puck stands, back straight as well, eyes them carefully.

“I’m Dr. Stevenson. You must be Sergeant Puckerman,” the doctor greets genially, hand out for a shake.

Puck obliges, nods once. “That’s correct, sir. And you are?”

The other man’s face remains stoic for a long moment before breaking out into a surprisingly friendly grin. “I see why Darren doesn’t stop talking about you. I’m the Chief of Police, William Bratton.” His handshake is firmer than the doctors, a challenge and welcome at the same time. “Pleasure to meet you, Sergent Puckerman. Despite your many visits to the precinct, I’m afraid we’ve never met.” Chief Bratton, the man Finn talks about sometimes like he’s some kind of superhero - kind and strong and a great leader.

Puck half-smiles, has to remind himself that it’s not Finn two feet to his right, it’s Detective Darren Hale. “I only stop in for a few minutes anyway, if I look at his paperwork for more than a few minutes I start to feel sick.”

The Chief laughs, full and hearty, but his good mood quickly dampens when he glances at Finn. Puck’s a little less on edge when he sees the genuine sorrow and anger in the older mans gaze, and asks the doctor, “So, what’s wrong with him? I got back to town about an hour ago and the guards let me in but I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.”

Dr. Stevenson blinks in surprise before nodding solemnly, “Yes, I’m sorry for that, Sergeant, we’re just a bit understaffed for the kind of day today has turned out to be.” 

The doctor ambles to the end of Finn’s bed and pulls out a clipboard, one that Puck knows he wouldn’t have been able to read anyway since doctors are just as bad as lieutenants and colonels. 

“Detective Hale here is suffering from some deep tissue damage due to blunt force trauma to his lower left abdominal, resulting from a gunshot wound that impacted his bulletproof vest. From what Chief Bratton and his men could find so far, it seems most of the gang members in the shootout were using smaller caliber bullets and handguns, so most of the injuries are superficial or clean.”

Puck winces sympathetically. He’s only been shot once, a training exercise gone wrong, and a any bullet to the chest with a bulletproof vest is like getting a sledgehammer to the chest. 

“His upper left shoulder was damaged by another bullet that bypassed the vest, a through and through that pierced his left scapula and damaged infraspinatus muscle tissue. Luckily it missed most of the fine bone and cartilage structures in his shoulder and only nicked a small artery, but he did sustain heavy blood loss and lost consciousness shortly after being loaded into the ambulance. Thankfully, it doesn’t require surgery, but it is a severe injury that will take months to heal and at least a year of physical therapy to regain full range of motion.”

Bratton clears his throat when the doctor finishes and takes his leave with reassurances that Finn will wake up soon, groggy and in pain but on his way to a full recovery. “I have to tell you, Sergeant, I was surprised to find Darren’s emergency contact information had changed.”

Puck raises an eyebrow, curious and cautious. “Why’s that?”

The Chief walks over to the single window in the hospital room, hands behind his back, and Puck inexplicably feels like he’s about to receive the shovel talk. While Finn does seem to look up to Chief Bratton a great deal, getting the ‘don’t break his heart’ speech would require them actually being together like Puck wishes but knows can never happen. 

“Darren’s a good guy. Funny, outgoing, relatable.” Something in the Chief’s face softens almost unconsciously, and Puck’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Kind. A good leader. But he doesn’t let anyone close.”

_ I can think of a few reasons why, _ Puck internally mutters.

“Despite all his likable qualities, he’s never been real close with anyone. There’re a few guys he goes out for drinks with, some he chats up during graveyard shifts, but in the last five years he’s worked at the department, he hasn’t brought one person to the office. No girlfriend, parents, friends.”

“And you’re wondering how some Air Force Sergeant managed to get close enough that he chooses me as his emergency contact,” Puck finishes dryly, not really surprised at the suspicion. 

Hearing more about Finn’s life and relationships in the last five minutes from the Police Chief than Finn himself in the last five weeks, Puck can paint a pretty lonely picture of his best friends new life, navigating a huge city himself and scared for everyone he’s ever known, trying so hard to keep people away when all he’s ever done was draw people in. He desperately wants to just bring Finn home and curl up around him, protect him from everything trying to hurt him.  _ What the fuck did Finn ever do to deserve this? _

“Not really interested in the how of it, Sergeant,” Bratton says seriously. “Darren is an integral part of our department. There’d be a lot of angry police officers if one Detective Hale were to turn up even more broken than he was before becoming one of us.”

_ He knows _ , Puck thinks with a little chill.  _ He knows Finn’s hiding something. _

The flash of cold fear that Finn must feel everyday is overpowered by a hot wave of anger at the insinuation. “I’d never hurt him.”  _ Not like that, not again _ . 

They stare at each other for a long moment before the Chief nods once. “Right then. Dr. Stevenson should be back in a few to do a check up on Darren and give you instructions for wound care and the like.”

Puck blinks, bewildered. “Uh, alright. I need to call my supervisor-”

“No need.” The Chief winks. “Old Rusty and I go way back. Already called and confirmed your vacation for the next two weeks.”

Puck is torn between being impressed at the Chief’s foresight and irritation that the man basically outed him to a superior officer and made his decision for him, but before he can decide, the Chief is off to check on his other officers.

Puck heaves a heavy sigh, drops into the chair at Finn’s bedside, and goes back to watching the peaceful expression on Finn’s face.

“Seems matter where you go, you make friends with the most troublesome people.”

 

* * *

 

“So how’d you get shot?”

Finn blinks owlishly at him. “There was a shootout-”

Puck glares at him, just like he did when Finn finally woke up a week ago in the hospital, but this time they’re at Finn’s apartment and Puck’s busy getting Finn’s antibiotics and painkillers ready.

“Oh no, don’t pull that innocent-face shit on me. You think I’m an idiot? You’re right handed. If you’d taken cover like any cop with a brain, you would’ve been hiding behind something but you can’t completely hide the right side of your body if you’re returning fire. So unless you mooned them, there’s no way you could’ve gotten shot from behind. I know entry and exit wounds dude, and that bullet definitely came in through your shoulder blade and out by your clavicle.”

Finn’s staring at him now, eyes wide and pupils a little blown. Puck would think Finn was on something besides painkillers if he was sure that Finn was as sober as can be in these circumstances. “Um.”

Puck’s eyes narrow dangerously, mind flashing back to the time Finn stood up to the entire football team by helping Artie, embarrassed himself by standing up to Kurt’s bullies in a shiny red dress, sent Berry to New York to follow her dreams instead of tie herself down, and accuses, “You took a bullet for someone, didn’t you.”

Finn fidgets nervously under his hard glare before frowning. “What? He didn’t have a bulletproof vest on!”

Puck’s teeth grind together with the effort to keep himself from yelling at the injured man. “You know what? When you’re not about to pass out from pain, I’m gonna kick your ass. Now take your meds, you invalid.”

Finn shakes his head, barely keeps himself from yelping when the movement aggravates his wounds. “I’m okay.”

“Take. Your. Meds.”

“No, I don’t need them!”

“Dude, just take it! You’re about to  _ cry _ , don’t act like I didn’t see you wipe tears away just now!”

“Leave it alone, Puck, I’ll be fine.”

“You got  _ shot _ , Finn. Trust me, I’m not gonna bitch at you for being a wuss if you take a few painkillers.”

“I don’t need them!”

“You can’t move your entire upper body without cringing like you’re giving birth.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“Hey, I was in the delivery room with Quinn, okay? You’re making her labor pain faces.”

“How’s Beth by the way?"

“Wanna see a picture? Look at her, she’s so- don’t try to distract me! Using my daughter is totally cheating! Just take the pills, you look like shit.”

He’s not exaggerating either. Finn’s got a sling strapping his left arm to his chest, leaving only his fingers free and almost touching his right arm. There’er dark circles under his eyes from poor sleep, a few cuts on his face from debris, and he looks gaut and pale while swaddled under the dark colored blankets.

Both men glare at each other for a long moment before Finn sighs defeatedly, head gingerly falling back onto his pillow to avoid aggravating his shoulder wound.

Puck rolls his eyes and brings over a pill and some water, relieved that he won’t have to force feed Finn too since they’ve already eaten. “There you go, man. One powerful painkiller that’ll make you high as a kite probably.” He narrows his eyes at the hesitance still on Finn’s face. “Dude, what is it?”

Finn swallows hard. “Uh, just don’t let me get addicted to these, alright?”

Puck snorts. “Yeah sure.”

Finn glares. “I’m serious dude. Even if I say I’m in the worst pain imaginable, stick to the prescription the doctor gave, alright?”

Pucks brows draw together, finally able to pick up on the undercurrent of tension in Finn’s body as he sits on the bed next to his best friend. “Dude, you’re kind of freaking me out right now. What’s going on?”

Finn isn’t looking at him his good arm laying next to him and picking at the comforter. Despite being a six foot plus, well built police officer, he looks more like toddler afraid of telling his parents something that might get him in trouble. The thought makes his heartbeat speed up a little. “Don’t...don’t get mad? Okay?”

“Is this your secret you’ve been waiting to tell me?”

Finn nods, subdued. “One of them.”

_ One of how many? _

Puck, knowing this isn’t going to be an easy conversation just by his friends tone, takes a deep breath and sets the water and painkillers on the bedside table. “Arlight. Spill.”

Finn sighs. “You’ve probably noticed, but I don’t drink or smoke. Ever.”

Puck raises an eyebrow. “Uh, then what the hell were you drinking when we went to the pub the first time?”

“Water.”

“Oh. Wait, so you don’t drink  _ anything _ ? Anymore? Since when?”

Finn laughs a little at the incredulity, especially since the most he’s ever drank with Puck was beer and mixed drinks at frat parties, but the smile dims with something more solemn taking it’s place as he reaches over to the nightstand with a wince. Puck’s about to yell at him for being a dumbass and moving when he isn’t supposed to, but the words die in his throat when Finn pulls out a coin. It has a triangle on it with a big number in the center, the words ‘to thine own self be true’ written along its edges.

He’s never seen one before in person but he can guess he’s looking at a coin of sobriety. “Five-hundred days sober, as of Friday.”

Puck’s jaw drops a little. 

Finn ducks his head. “When I was first put into the WPP, I wasn’t in a good place. I mean, they set me up with six months of free rent and utilities, and they got me a job as a mechanic a few streets over so I could pay for food and stuff, and I even had appointments with their psychologist or whatever but...I didn’t cope well.”

Puck watches him fidget with the coin in his hands. It’s always been a habit of his, a tell that basically said, “Hey, I’m really uncomfortable and I feel guilty and some other stupid shit and don’t know how to say it.” It’s the reason why Finn could never get away with a lie no matter how convincingly he said it (which wasn’t often).

Puck settles next to him on the narrow bed, shoulder pressed to his in a silent vow of camaraderie and brotherhood. “Tell me.”

Finn swallows hard, eyes shiny and glued to the coin in his hand. “I don’t do well with change, you know? And I was just really, really sad and scared and paranoid...fuck, I was lonely too. I missed you guys so much. I missed my mom, I missed Rachel, I missed Kurt...I missed you. I missed Ohio and all my kids in Glee, missed Will and Emma. I couldn’t...I couldn’t deal with it all, so I just started drowning my problems in a bottle. They aged me up two years so I was technically legal, and I took advantage of it when I wasn’t in the garage. Just drank until I could barely remember my real name. That’s not all, either.” 

“Finn…” But Puck doesn’t know what else to say to that.

Finn looks even more nervous now, ashamed and guilty and Puck feels all the air rush out of his lungs when Finn extends his good arm, wrist up, and with the other hand runs a finger little pin prick marks Puck’s never really noticed before. It hits him like a punch to the chest, seeing those scars marring Finn’s light skin. 

“Those are…”

“Track marks,” Finn finishes miserably. He pulls down his sleeve but Puck can still see them so clearly in his head. “I told you I’m in the witness protection because I saw something, but that’s not all it was. They--” his breath hitches, “they had dealers planted in college dorms, to distribute and sell their stuff. They also had special people, people they called recruiters, to find and  _ persuade _ students who needed money or were in debt to work for them. Traffic drugs around campus, get it into school events, stuff like that. After I saw a deal go down between one of the main distributors between Allen County and his source, they dragged me into it. Told me if I ever ran and told a cop, they’d kill anyone close to me. They said they knew about you.”

Just like two months ago when he found Finn, six weeks ago when Finn told him the whys and hows, Puck feels sick to his stomach.

“I don’t think they really even cared who I was, just that I was another potential smokescreen in U of L. Didn’t do much research on me beyond who my roommate was and what classes I was taking so they never found out about my mom or her marrying Burt - thank god she changed her name. But they had to keep their runners on a tight leash, so they--they would dose us up right after a big deal went down. Not much at first, enough for us to feel it and crave it, keep us quiet and make any allegations we made seem weak. After all, who’d believe a junkie, right? But sometimes it got so bad that the guys would start using regularly and overdose.”

Puck thinks back to those last few months with Finn, the increased absences from class and constant frat parties and long weekends disappearing. He’d chalked it up to stress from exams and Glee and Rachel, not…

“I was only a decoy for two months before a deal I had to go to was busted by the feds. They took me into custody, I told them everything, and they placed me here because unlike the other low level runners, I’ve seen some of the more influential distributors. They say I’m a key witness but they have to nail the guy on charges that’ll stick first and they can’t afford me getting offed before then. So along with the drinking, I kind of fell into the drug scene too. It wasn’t--it wasn’t like those stories you hear of guys just passing out on the sidewalk or lying around in crack houses. I was still using low doses before my handler put me in rehab for a few months. I couldn’t go into the police academy like that so I quit, for good. I’m seven years clean, I swear.”

Puck doesn’t even hesitate before saying, “I believe you.” 

And even though Puck should know better, because junkies tend to lie to get their next fix, he can’t see any new track marks marring Finn’s skin, and the ones already there are so faint they may as well be shadows now. He’s still in disbelief, though. Of course, he can understand why Finn did it, how easy it is for someone in his situation to spiral so low, but he just never imagined  _ Finn _ to go down that road. In the darkest recesses of his mind, he always thought  _ he _ would be the one to end up in a gutter, drunk out of his mind, too high to come down, too tired of life to care.

Then again, he always thought  _ he _ would be the one to die young and recklessly, and look out that turned out.

Finn’s hand comes up to cover his eyes and Puck pretends he can’t feel the tremble in Finn’s body as he tries to suppress his tears, his fear, the horrible memories that still haunt him even eight years later. 

_ God, Finn, why you?  _

A self-depreciating smile works its way onto Finn’s face when his hand comes down, clenches into a fist beside Puck’s. “The alcohol was a lot harder to kick. Took two trips to the ER and a long lecture from the agent in charge of my case before I got my head on straight and decided to do something worthwhile. The first time I tried to stop drinking, I cut out the drugs too, but it was...it was really hard. I figured, drinking is easier to hide that shooting up, so while I was in the academy and on the force, I fell off the wagon a few times. It wasn’t pretty and I couldn’t seem to stop for years, but then I saw- I saw something on tv that reminded me of why I was here in the first place. Why I had to keep it together.”

Puck thinks he knows what Finn’s talking about. Nearly a year and a half ago, this Friday.

Rachel Berry winning her first Tony.

“It was the wake up call I needed. Threw away all the alcohol in the apartment, asked a few of the guys at work to never let me drink while I was hanging out with them. The Chief had a suspicion but didn’t kick me off the force when I went to him about getting help, so he got me in touch with the local AAA group. I got my shit together, worked my ass off, and managed to ace my detective's exam.”

There’s nothing really to say to that except, “I’m so fucking proud of you, man.”

Finn’s head snaps to the side, eyes red and wide and shocked, before a shaky grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? Even though I fucked u-”

“Hey,” Puck interrupts, careful not to jostle to him too much so he gently kicks him instead, “you made a mistake, okay? The drugs weren’t your fault and the alcohol...you were--are--in a shitty situation, and you lost your family and friends and everything you knew. No one can blame you for trying to cope, even if it was a pretty dumb way to do it.”

Finn laughs, a choked sound that scrapes his throat. “Yeah, it was pretty dumb, huh?”

Puck nods knowingly. “Almost as dumb as that time we slashed that other Glee Clubs tires and got caught on camera.”

Finn laughs again, sounding less pained and more genuine. “Hah, yeah, that was pretty dumb too. Hey, uh,” Finn starts haltingly, “There’s a AAA meeting in a few days. We’re allowed to bring someone--someone important to us, to hear about our progress. I’m probably gonna be okay to walk around then, so, if you wanted, you could, uh, you-”

“I’m there,” Puck answers, firm and resolute.

Finn’s face brightens. “Yeah?”

Puck steels himself and settles his hand on Finn’s, squeezing tightly when Finn reciprocates, and looks at him with as much sincerity as he can. “I got your back, dude. Always will.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things in the timeline might be a little off, so I’ll be going through and editing as I see fit. Chapter 1 is set 8 years after the season 6 finale, so a little over a year after Rachel won her Tony.
> 
> Apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes or inconsistencies, I'm not really proofreading these before I post them. Leave a comment and let me know what you thought!


	7. Chapter 7

 

Puck’s arms are loaded with groceries when he reaches the door so when he has to stop and get the key out - that still sends his heart doing stupid little flips in his chest - he’s able to hear a voice in Finn’s apartment. A voice that doesn’t belong to Finn.

In all the time Puck’s found out about Finn’s new life, he’s never seen or heard another person in Finn’s apartment. Mainly because Finn’s new (eight year old) paranoia doesn’t let him trust people with his address, but also because it’s the safe area that the U.S. Marshals set up for him while he got back on his feet. It’s an off the record address so no one can even accidently stumble upon it, and it sends alarms blaring through Pucks mind.

He reasons it’s understandable when his heart starts pounding double-time because  _ what if they found him? _

The bags hit the floor with a _thunk_ and he manages to get the door open in seconds, knowing he’s unarmed and against an unknown number of people, but Finn’s injured and on pain meds and even less of a threat and he needs to protect Finn. He can’t go to another funeral, can’t look Carole in the eye and tell her he’s failed twice, and somewhere in the back of his military oriented mind he knows he’s being a damn fool rushing in right now. So, he’s not at all surprised at the gun pointed at him, or the fact that brave, heroic,  _ idiotic _ Finn jumps between him and the gun, but he doesn't expect Finn to shout, “Stop! Don’t shoot him Marie! He’s a friend!”

The red haze that had crept into the edges of his vision clears a bit and he peeks around Finn’s body to see a petite woman in a smart suit glaring at both of them, but the gun is gone at least, holstered on her hip and small enough to be effectively hidden from civilian eyes.

_ Smaller bullets have more piercing power _ , Puck absently thinks.

“Maybe you should tell your  _ friend _ to close the door so we don’t have a scene on our hands,” the woman says with a stern frown.

Something about her makes his hackles rise and the delinquent in him wants to make a sharp remark about her maybe ungluing her knees and relaxing a bit, but he holds his tongue at Finn’s imploring look. He works his jaw for a second, lets the adrenaline dissipate a bit from his system, and goes to pick up the groceries he dropped and close the door on any of the nosy neighbors with their faces glued to their peepholes.

Puck sees Finn shift uncomfortably when neither he nor  _ Marie the Marshal _ say anything, just glare at each other.

She stares at him like a bug under a microscope before deeming him unimportant and turning her hard gaze onto Finn. Her voice is sharp and not unlike a scolding mother despite her barely being ten years older than them, but there’s something very real and very dangerous about it. “I take my first vacation in two years and come back to you  _ shot _ in an altercation with a gang affiliated with the man responsible for putting you in the witness protection program  _ and _ find out you’ve breached your contract with the Marshal Service. One rule, Darren,  _ one rule _ and it’s a damn good one.  _ No contact _ with anyone from your old life.”

Puck cuts in before Finn can say anything, letting a little of the old football player-Puckerman  _ and _ Staff Sergeant from Hell bleed through, “First of all, here? He’s  _ Finn _ . Finn Hudson. Second of all,  _ I  _ found  _ him _ on accident. And no one knows but me, alright?”

“For now, maybe,” Marie answers evenly, “but tell me, Staff Sergeant Puckerman, how long will that last? How many times have you been tempted to tell your friends back in Ohio or New York?”

Puck starts at having his title thrown at him like that. His lips curl in a wordless snarl. “You been looking me up, Agent?”

Marie narrows her eyes, a rich dark brown that glow bright like hot coals. “Of course I have. After hearing this one got shot and had a new emergency contact, I dug up everything I could about you. Record in juvie junior year of high school, average marks in everything but math which was above average, wandered to Los Angeles a year after graduation before returning to room with his high school best friend at Lima University. Joined the Air Force after learning of said best friends death.” She leans forward, and despite being nearly the same height as Berry with a flatter chest than Santana’s before senior year, she sends a little thrill of caution up his spine. “I know everything I need to know about you, Puckerman. What I don’t know is how the Air Force could let such a moron become Staff Sergeant in the first place and what they were thinking promoting you.”

Puck’s left a little speechless, mostly from mounting rage, but also from a little respect and a little hatred. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t need to say anything because Finn steps up, a familiar, stubborn,  _ angry _ set to his jaw that Puck recognizes from back in the day when Finn was everyone’s quarterback, the one who told the bullies to knock it off and the one stupid enough and brave enough to join the army because he wanted to make a difference. “That’s enough. Puck’s right, us meeting was a complete accident, and  _ I  _ was the one to keep contact with him afterwards. You’re pissed and worried and I get that okay? But I’m not gonna let you talk crap about him, not to his face and  _ not  _ in front of me.”

The Finn Effect still seems to work because Puck sees the metaphorical claws retract as Marie pauses and takes a deep breath. It’s hard to stay made in the face of a six-four puppy staring at you like that, even though right now he looks more like an angry pitbull.

Marie clears her throat and looks at Puck again, no less suspicious but not quite as hostile. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Agent Marie Rodriguez. I’m the one in charge of Finn’s case and the one he keeps in contact with to ensure he’s not in danger of being discovered.”

The last bit is obviously a last minute dig but he lets it slide. “Staff Sergeant Noah Puckerman, but people call me Puck when I’m off the clock. And like you said, I’m his best friend, and I’m not staying out of it.”

Then something she’d said just minutes earlier finally registers and he rounds on a relieved looking Finn.

“And what did she mean by  _ altercation with gang affiliated with the guy that put you here?” _

 

* * *

 

 

It’s an hour and a half before Marie leaves, half convinced to let Puck stay in-the-know and not move Finn again, this time to a remote location without even a snowball's chance in hell of someone accidentally finding him. Pucks not worried - now that he’s at Finn’s side again, he’s not leaving. Marie’s not exactly happy, but the reason for her visit was more than to check on Finn after his stupid stunt during a shoot out.

They’ve found the man responsible for making Finn’s life hell.

Eric Sanchez, a big name in the drug trafficking scene, had been caught on multiple minor felony charges, but with the testimony of the four key eyewitnesses like Finn, they could nail him for illegal drug trafficking and distribution, manufacturing, possession, and dozens of others that could keep him in prison and away from Finn for fifty years to life. They could even use Finn’s past to charge him with unwilling injection of controlled substances into minors. 

They probably won’t be able to keep the murder charges, Marie discloses with an angry twist to her mouth, so they’ll need as many charges to stick as possible and who better than the very men that had their lives destroyed by him?

The mention of his past, so fresh and new to Puck, shakes Finn but he holds it together and Puck is so damn proud of his best friend.

Marie agrees to keep them both in the loop but warns both of them severely to stay out of sight and keep their heads down. There should be no mention of Finn Hudson outside of Ohio, especially not now when their three other key eyewitnesses are in just as much danger. The discovery of one is unlikely to lead to the discovery of others, but the U.S. Marshal Service isn’t taking any chances. Puck swallows the nausea building in the back of his throat at the thought of Finn being found, promises himself he’ll keep Finn safe no matter what, and makes a mental note to keep his next few weeks free. He’ll have to put off that promotion for six months but his CO will understand if Puck explains part of the situation.

Now though, seeing Finn sway on his feet from pain and medication, it makes something in his chest turn over but it also reminds him of the white hot anger and soul crushing worry he’d felt when he found out who exactly shot Finn.

When Finn is settled in bed again, Puck can’t help but ask, “What the hell were you thinking?”

Finn starts, frowning, but he doesn’t look surprised at the outburst. He knows exactly what Puck’s talking about. “I couldn’t just  _ not go _ , Puck. It’s my job.”

“And this is why you joined?” Puck demands, can’t help but pace at the foot of the bed agitatedly. He runs a hand through his hair and inexplicably misses the feeling of his mohawk. “You said...you said you become a cop to help people. Not put your dumbass self in the line of fire.”

Finn is quiet for a moment. “I just...it was a dumb idea because all the Marshalls I talked to said it would be next to impossible to go back to being Finn Hudson again, but I just...I thought if I got the chance, if I could put Sanchez away...I could finally come home. I did it for both. I wanted to help people, but I wanted to help myself too. Is that so bad?”

_ “So,” Puck starts, “I never asked before cause I thought it was off the table but, a cop? I thought after the army thing and your dad you’d avoid everything related to government service again. And guns.” _

_ Finn shoots him an annoyed look, but he’s smiling a little too as he makes breakfast. “Shut up, dude. Turns out I’ve got pretty good aim when I’m not accidently shooting myself in the leg. Getting shot once makes you  _ really  _ not wanna get shot again.” _

_ “I bet,” Puck snorts. He nudges his shoulder with his own. “What happened to being a teacher?” _

_ Finn shrugs, but there’s a little wistfulness there too. “Would’ve needed to go back to college and I was pretty messed up when I got here, you know? I wouldn’t have been able to take classes and have a full time job and deal with...everything. I figured if I couldn’t help kids in high school like Ryder and Marley, I could help the ones no one wants to help. Most kids go to juvie because of drug possession and stuff like that. That’s why I volunteer at the juvenile detention center every week, because they need someone to believe in them like Ryder and Marley even though it’s different circumstances.” _

_ How can Puck forget when Finn brags about those kids like they’re people to be proud of? He’s been there a couple times too for a pickup game of basketball. He smirks at the memory of him and Finn owning all those teenagers with minor felony charges and earning their respect in the span of a day.  _

_ Finn grins again, this time with a mix of bashfulness and pride, ”I’m good at it too, which definitely helps. What about you?” _

_ Puck shrugs too for lack of anything better to do. “E-5 Staff Sergeant now, E-6 in a few months when I get around to filling out the paperwork for review. Decent pay, I get time off pretty much whenever if there’s no scheduled shipment of recruits, and I get to use the government's money for stuff. Works for me.” _

_ Finn glances at him, curiosity clear. “Why did you join the military, anyway? You thought I was crazy for talking to an army recruiter, and I thought the military would cramp your style.”    _

_ He’s not wrong, but it also seems he doesn’t realize how hard his death hit Puck and everyone in Lima. “You  _ were  _ crazy for joining. You’re a good cop now, I’ll give you that, but everyone could see army wasn’t the right place for you. Besides, I didn’t really know what to do after you died, but it made me realize some things...and I wanted to not be a useless waste of space anymore.” _

_ He ignores Finn’s objections to that but it warms him too, the unwavering loyalty and faith only born from a life-long friendship. That’s why he decides to tell him what he’s never really told anyone before, even if some may have guessed it like Quinn and Beiste. _

_ “I joined the military ‘cause I knew it was important to you. I joined because of you, man.” _

_ Finn falls silent at that. _

_ “I don’t regret it or anything. I’m actually a pretty awesome NCO - I take my job seriously and people respect me. It’s nice to represent something bigger.” It gives him a familiar sense of belonging like Glee used to, like Finn used to (and does now but he pushes that terrifying realization aside for later). “Dunno. It’s not what I had in mind, but I’m glad I ended up here.” He adds quietly, “It brought me here, right?” _

_ Finn looks at him then, that serious, searching gaze Puck’s felt a few times but never really understood what it meant. _

_ He can feel himself flushing while a familiar, far-fetched hope rises in him when Finn doesn’t say anything, seems to almost lean in a little closer- _

_ Finn blinks, clears his throat and leans back to finish cooking the bacon. _

_ Puck pushes away the tiny, ridiculous sting of heartbreak he can feel cracking in his chest and forces himself to ask, “Why a detective? After we saw all the paperwork they had to do when we were kids, you swore you’d never be a cop. And you could’ve just become a counselor if you wanted to help those juvie kids.” _

_ Finn shrugs, still not really looking at him. “I didn’t join cause I wanted to, honestly. I’ve always wanted to be a good person, do something important, make a difference. Help people. I didn’t really realize that until I helped Will direct Glee, you know? And after...after the WPP, I wanted to do something that would help more people and becoming a cop seemed like the best way to do it. And it’s not like I’m working homicide or anything, I think I’d puke at my first crime scene. Now Gang and Narcotics? That’s the division I wanted in for, y’know, obvious reasons.” He clears his throat. _

And Puck can’t...he can’t justifiably stay angry at Finn for his decision. Not when he knows he would’ve done the same goddamn thing.

And that’s when it hits Puck - why Finn’s apartment looks little more lived in than a hotel room, why Finn has so many vacation days saved up, why none of Finn’s coworkers know anything substantial about him, why Finn is so ready to throw himself into danger. All this hard work, all those hours spent in the office and pouring over cases, it was all to come home. He wants to cry a little bit because he should’ve known; he’s Finn’s best friend, he should’ve seen the desperation on Finn’s face when they first met in front of Finn’s desk at four in the morning.

“You became a cop to catch the guy that put you here?” Puck nearly shouts, nearly startling himself with the sudden resurgence of adrenaline and anger at the thought. “Are you fucking crazy? Why the hell would you do something like that?”

Finn draws back, hurt evident on his face before it hardens. “What the hell, dude? Why wouldn’t I wanna catch the guy that did this to me?”

Puck glares at him. “Uh, maybe because he could  _ kill _ you, dumbass!”

“What’s the big deal?” Finn roars back, “I’m already  _ dead _ . Why not make it official?”

Puck doesn’t realize his hand is through a wall until the red haze in his vision finally dissipates, knuckles aching and looking down with shadowed eyes at Finn’s stunned expression. “Don’t ever say that to me again.” He grabs his coat and ignores Finn’s calls, pretends the prick in his eyes is from the pain in his hand as he storms out of the apartment.

God, how did today turn into such shit?

 

* * *

 

 

He wanders around downtown LA for an hour to clear his head before he heads to the diner where he and Finn first met at and the one they come to almost every week.

Clara’s smile is no longer tinged with suspicion or worry, just genuine happiness to see him even if her brows furrow at not seeing Fi- Darren right next to him. It’s rare and she’s probably coming to a bunch of ridiculous conclusions he doesn’t have the energy to correct. “Hello sweetness,” she greets, dropping off a cup of coffee just the way he likes it. “Your usual?”

That seems easiest and he manages a smile. “Yeah. Thanks Clara.”

She purses her lips at his lackluster response but doesn’t push and bounces away to get his order.

Puck doesn’t know how long he stays sitting in the booth and staring down into his untouched coffee until Clara walks back five, ten, fifteen minutes later with two to-go boxes of food. He blinks at them in confusion before looking up at her kind expression. “Looked like you needed a little pick-me-up, sweetness,” she says gently. “Lovers spats are always hard, but keep your chin up. Darren’s a good guy and you’re good for him. Go home and talk it out with your man.”

He splutters, “We’re not-” but she’s gone before he can finish. 

_ Damn nosy women, thinking they know it all, _ he internally grumbles, but he leaves two twenties anyway and takes the to-go boxes. It’s clear she wants them to ‘make up’ or whatever...and yeah, maybe Finn’s hungry now since Puck didn’t get to make dinner with Agent Marie’s interruption...and he’s probably miserable all alone at the apartment while he’s doped up on pain meds…

_ Dammit. _

He makes it back to the now dark apartment as the sun touches the horizon. Finn doesn’t stir at his entrance and he’s both worried and grateful - Finn’s a light sleeper these days, even with medication.

He watches the rise and fall of Finn’s chest, eyes catching on the lighter sling he wears these days just two weeks after the incident. He doesn’t look all that comfortable with that furrow between his brows, and Puck feels a stab of guilt at seeing the hole he left in Finn’s wall. He makes a mental note to patch it up later and apologize with pancakes in the morning.

_ “Darren’s a good guy and you’re good for him.” _

Puck doesn’t know if that second part is true or not, but he’s already promised Finn he’d stay by his side. He’s a man of his word now, and he doesn’t think he could leave even if he wanted to.

His phone starts buzzing as he puts the take out food away quietly, a little surprised but mostly annoyed to see  _ Lady Fingers _ flashing across the screen. He steps out onto the balcony and closes the door behind him before answering, “Stop buggin’ me about suit measurements, I’m just gonna wear my dress blues to the wedding! And tell Artie to hurry up and propose dammit, I got money riding on this.”

He doesn’t hear Kurt’s telltale sigh that usually lets him know he’s exasperated the designer or an affronted huff at being yelled at first thing, or even a sniff at the mention of the bet the guys have on when Artie’s gonna man up and finally ask Tina to marry him.

Instead, he feels his world fall out from under his feet when Kurt whispers, “Noah, I think Finn’s alive.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Started watching Glee a few weeks ago and I can't stop crying over Finn Hudson (and everyone important to him/he was important to tbh) so this is me writing out how much in denial I am. I'm still working on my other fics (and I have four other Finn-is-still-alive fics and one time travel Finn fic, ngl) but I almost physically could not stop writing this. I haven't actually finished season 3 or watched season 4-6 but I've watched most of the eps after season 3 that are Finn-heavy so I think I have a decent grasp on his (and Puck's) character. Watch out for spoilers in case you haven't watched the whole series. Set a year or so after the series finale, so eight years after Finn's canon death. 
> 
> I don't know much about the military or how police departments are run or anything, so sorry for any wrong information. 
> 
> Please leave a review and tell me what you think!
> 
> (I've bought over thirty songs in the span of three weeks help me)


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